


out of the blue and into the black ( it's better to burn out than to fade away )

by wearealltalesintheend



Series: dying is an art, like everything else ( I do it  exceptionally well ) [1]
Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Ghost!Connor Murphy, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Lies, M/M, References to Depression, So many lies, Social Anxiety, and musicals references, because well Ghosts and Reapers, but there will be Supernatural elements, but this aint a crossover i guess, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it, connor's adventures in Ghost 101, ghost!Connor doesn't like Evan lying, guys this is act 1, i don't know how yet, somehow the mess gets even messier because of it, the angst is mild, there's greek references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 22:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10841061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearealltalesintheend/pseuds/wearealltalesintheend
Summary: "Dear Evan Hansen,This is not going to be a good day and here's why:You are hallucinating the dead kid you are faking being friends with."or, Evan lies through his teeth and gets way more than what he bargained for. Connor is dead but he is still stuck here, so he may as well get a kick out of it, and driving Evan insane seems to fit the bill just right.





	1. there's no rest for the wicked

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So, okay, this musical has taken over my life and I know, I know, I should be finishing my Dirk Gently series, but this idea wouldn't leave me alone.
> 
> So here it is, the prologue. I can't promise a coherent update schedule, but I can promise longer chapters.
> 
> Enjoy:

_"Dear Evan Hansen,_

_This is not going to be a good day and here's why:_

_You are hallucinating the dead kid you are faking being friends with."_

 

.

.

.

 

It starts on the way back from the Murphy's, when he is walking back home, mind spiralling away with all the lies and lies and lies and-

 

"You know, that's not what I meant when I said we could pretend to have friends."

 

And then Connor Murphy is falling into step beside him, hands in his hoodie's pocket, and Evan, like a normal, sensible person, shrieks and scrambles away, and, "What? _You-_ How? _Y-You?_ You are _dead!"_

 

"Well, yeah, duh," Connor shrugs like there is nothing confusing or weird or wrong or out of the ordinary with that, "or did you think I was a secret evil twin? Eviler, I mean."

 

"I-what?" Evan gapes, shuts his eyes, presses the heels of his hands against his eyelids, because this can't be _real,_ "You- _this_ isn't happening, it's not real, it's all in my head, you're dead, oh god, I'm going crazy, holy shit, this is a whole new level-"

 

"Okay, I'm going to stop you right fucking there because dude, calm the fuck down and _breathe."_ Connor, no, the _hallucination_ glares at him from a few feet away, "you just lied your way into _my house_ , you can get used to some fucking haunting, asshole."

The words are spat at him with so much bitterness that they filter through the haze in Evan's mind, burning their way into understanding, and _oh,_ "Right, right, it makes sense, in a very fucked up kind of way, but yes, it's the guilt-- the guilt!" Evan nods fervently as he explains to Not-Connor standing in the driveway, "I just got into this mess, so my brain is freaking out, of course, and it's making me hallucinate _you,_ obviously."

Evan almost smiles; his brain turning on him? He can deal with that, yeah, maybe change his meds or something. Maybe if he concentrates really hard or dig his nails on his hands, it will go away.

Except.

The hallucination, Connor, is still glowering at him from the driveaway, arms crossed against his chest, looking as real as the day he signed Evan's cast and as angry as the moment he shoved Evan to the floor.

They stare at each other in silence for another minute, but then a car turns the corner and runs over the spot Connor had been occupying and he looks alarmed for a second before his image blinks and fades away.

Evan finds himself alone in the street, wondering what the hell had just happened. He shakes his head, stuffs his hands in his pockets and goes home.

 

Tomorrow there will be enough to worry without him seeing things. He doesn't get enough sleep, not right away, and he hadn't expected to. He turns and tosses, limbs tangling up in the sheets; he thinks of all the lies he spun around the Murphy's, of how Zoe looked under the artificial light, of how his own house seemed so much emptier now. Strangely, it's the scared look on Connor's face when the car sped through him that sticks to his mind as Evan finally falls asleep.

 

.

.

.

 

The first thing Evan notices when he wakes up is that he had forgotten he owned a yellow shirt.

 

The second thing is that his yellow shirt had no business being up in the ceiling fan.

 

The third thing he notices is that a nuclear bomb seemed to have gone off in his room over night without him realizing it. His clothes had been scattered everywhere, from the ceiling to the window, and his closet had been thrown open, drawers tossed around and emptied. There is a shoe carefully placed on top of his computer, which, of course, had been relocated to the ceiling fan next to his yellow shirt.

 

"Dude, your clothes are _lame._ "

 

Evan shuts his eyes again. He recognizes that voice, unfortunely, he really does. This has _got_ to be a dream. Some terrible, horrible nightmare he is going to wake up from.

 

"Like, who even owns a yellow _Save the Bees_ teeshirt?"

 

Anytime now.

 

"What are you, some vegan freak?"

 

He's going to wake up soon. Evan can feel it. Right about now.

 

"Oh god, I got stuck haunting some vegan freak, that's just pathetic, I wanna lodge a complaint."

 

There is a headache building on the back of his head and Evan doesn't think you can get those in dreams, not with the medication he's taking.

 

So, back to hallucinating.

 

"Why didn't I made you up nicer?" He wonders aloud, because really, couldn't his brain give him a break?

 

Connor, though, doesn't seem to appreciate his woes. Instead, he looks at him warily from where he sits cross legged in the carpet, "you know, you are going to have to accept I'm not just a figment of your imagination at some point or other."

 

"Right, yeah, no, you are the evil twin no one knew about, how could I possibly forget."

_"Okay,_ first off, evil _er_ , I was clearly pretty damn evil on my own when I was alive," and now Evan found himself agreeing with his hallucination, "second, dude, how do you think your lame ass shirt ended up on the ceiling, uh? Or the shoe on the computer on the fan? And how do you explain the pentagram draw in blood in the roof? Or the socks in the coffee maker?"

" _The what on the roof?"_

"That's beside the point," Connor waves him off distractedly, and Evan backs away as much as possible, plasters himself against the wall, as the boy walks up to the bed and towers over him, "you gotta accept I'm a fucking ghost because it's no fun haunting you when you think I'm not real, and trust me, I'm going to keep haunting your lying ass until you drop this shit."

Evan is dizzy. There is a lot of words going on around him now, but he can't focus because _holy shit, Connor Murphy is a ghost holy shit holyshitholyshitholysh-_

He looks wide eyed at the boy in front of him, tries to say something, he is not exactly sure what, but it doesn't matter anyway because there isn't enough air in his lungs and he's choking and-

There is a loud bang.

 

It startles Evan out of the panic attack he had been spiraling into, he opens his eyes.

 

 ( _when had he closed them?_ )

The glass of water he always keeps on his bedside table is broken on the ground, a wet stain on the wall, shards glistening in the morning sun.

Connor is gone.

Evan takes a deep breath. His room still looks like a warzone.

He is _so_ glad his mom isn't home yet.


	2. there's a bad moon on the rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"To his credit, Evan did handle the ghost situation rather well, if anyone asked him. It's not everyday you find yourself being haunted by your classmate and he had had only one minor panic attack so far. Did he yelp when Connor appeared out of thin air? Yes, but did he get many stares for talking to himself? Well, yes, but that's not all his fault, and besides, people always found him weird anyway. "_
> 
> or, the one where a truce is made and Evan is just trying to fix this mess, alright?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hey, this took less time than expected, yay!
> 
> But it kinda feels like a prologue part 2? There isn't much happening yet.
> 
> Anyways, I hope y'all like it.

 

_"Dear Evan Hansen,_  

 

_Today is not going to be a good day and here's why:_  

 

_You are not hallucinating. You are being haunted._  

 

. 

. 

. 

 

"I'm sorry." 

 

Evan blurts out and immediatly feels foolish, standing in the middle of his empty kitchen and waiting for a ghost to appear. "I, uh, didn't want to-- well, you know, not _lie,_ but uh, _you know."_  

 

He fidgets, fiddles with the hem of his shirt, the silence in the room pressing down on him, "could you, I don't know, give me a sign you're here or something?" Evan feels his chest tighten, "you know, maybe bang some doors or, I don't know, break some plates?" When still nothing changes, he balks, "you know what, nevermind, this is stupid-- you're probably not even here, and even if you _were_ , why would you come talk to _me,_ this is stupid, I'm sorry, I-" 

 

The kitchen door starts opening and slamming closed, and Connor blinks into existence, his image shimmering and faltering for a second before he fully materializes in the doorway looking bored. "That's offensive, you know, thinking I would go full on Poltergheist on you." 

 

"I'm sorry?" 

 

"Jesus, you apologize too much." The ghost lets the door close one last time and leans on the doorway, arms crossed on his chest, "you were saying?" 

 

"Oh! Right, yeah," Evan fumbles, "I just wanted to say sorry? For last night?" 

 

"Oh, you mean last night when you told my parents we were best fucking friends forever for no goddamn reason?" 

 

Connor looks pissed. Very pissed. _Get-out-of-my-way-freak_ pissed.  

 

The glass on the counter starts shaking. 

 

" _Why?_ Why did you even do it, is it just some new way to fuck with me even after I died?"  

 

Is it Evan or the room is getting colder? He takes a step back from the ghost just in case. " _No!_ Why would I do that? _No,_ I would never-" 

 

"Then _why?_ " Connor flickers for a second, "why are you doing this? Is it my sister, you creep? Because if you fucking touch her, _I swear to god-"_  

 

" _No nonono no!_ I would never-- not that there's anything wrong with Zoe, there isn't, she's amazing, really-- I mean, I didn't plan this, like, at all! I swear," Evan is babbling, he knows, but Connor is still glaring at him and the glass on the sink is freaking vibrating and if it breaks there's gonna be a mess and he's going to cut himself in the shards, he knows--"its just that they started talking and I didn't know what to do, and Jared told me to just nod and agree-- but I may have agreed with a little too much and by then it was kind of too late, and I have no idea what I am doing anymore-- not that I had any idea before, because just _no-"_  

 

"Oh my god, _shut up!"_ Connor screams and the glass flies straight to the wall, smashing in a hundred smithereens on the floor; Evan flinches, eyes widening and breath catching up on his throat, and the ghost seems to deflate, "fine, whatever, I believe you, for fuck's sake, just _fix it_." 

 

"Fix it?" Evan winces, pales, "how-" 

 

"I don't know, it's your mess, _you_ fix it." Something changes, the room starts warming up again, but Connor looks tired to his bones and, for the first time, almost translucent, "I just want it to be over." 

 

And now Evan feels guilty, because _god,_ "Is that the reason you're still, you know, _here_?" 

 

How could he be so selfish? Jesus, he should have said something _ages_ ago, back in the principal's office, when they asked him about the letter for the first time, anything but make up some convoluted story. Maybe then Connor wouldn't be stuck as ghost like now. And now he feels even worse, because Connor's face is doing a thing where he looks so young and sad and tired and _jesus_ , it's so easy to forget he had been only seventeen when he- 

 

"N-no, I mean, I don't think so?" The ghost looks confused, nose scrunching up and brows furrowing, "I woke up like this two days ago, and I'm just-- here, I guess." 

 

Connor shrugs, and some of the waves crashing in Evan's chest subsides; it's still nowhere near okay and he has no idea how to deal, much less fix, any of this, but it's better than half an hour ago and really, what more could he ask? 

 

. 

. 

. 

 

( "Hey, uh, how serious were you about that pentagram? Because I'm not really confortable with blood? Like, it makes me kinda squirmish and nauseous-" 

 

" _Deadly_ serious." ) 

 

. 

. 

. 

 

"This is boring." 

 

Evan sighs, counts to ten. "You don't have to be here, you know." He gives Connor a sidelong glance, "you could, I don't know, move on? Follow the light, Connor, go to the light!" 

 

The boy rolls his eyes and rests his chin on his hand; he had been sitting on the floor next to Evan's desk since the class had started and he had popped into existence, "This isn't even how _Ghost_ went, Christ, did you even see the movie?" 

 

Evan grunts. He really needs to pay attention to this class, but he's not sure what's more distracting, the knowledge of the mess he's gotten himself into or the figure on the floor whining about AP Bio.  

 

To his credit, Evan did handle the ghost situation rather well, if anyone asked him. It's not everyday you find yourself being haunted by your classmate and he had had only one minor panic attack so far. Did he yelp when Connor appeared out of thin air? Yes, but did he get many stares for talking to himself? Well, yes, but that's not all his fault, and besides, people always found him weird anyway. 

 

"This is so boring it's killing me. _Again._ " 

 

Connor falls back on the floor, arm over his face.  

 

For a moment, there is silence. Evan is finally focusing on what the teacher is saying. 

 

Connor starts singing loudly and horribly out of tune. 

 

Evan sighs, looks around. No one else seems to be bothered by obnoxious teenage angst lyrics. 

 

To be fair, Evan never had that kind of good luck anyway. 

 

. 

. 

. 

 

"Oh my god, they will think you were lovers!" 

 

Jared cackles through the phone and Evan sputters, because Connor is like, less than five feet away, lounging in the sun in Evan's room like some kind of oversized cat, and this is _not_ the kind of thing they should be talking about. 

 

_"_ Jared _no-"_  

 

"Look, come _on,_ you were best friends and he wouldn't let you talk to him at school, and when you did, he kicked your ass, that's like," and now Jared sounded almost _giddy_ , "the most cliche secret gay lovers trope!" 

 

_"_ Oh my god, please stop talking." 

 

Evan whimpers, hides his head in his hands; he can faintly hear Connor snorting by the window and Jared laughing on the phone. 

 

The rest of the phone call is the disaster Evan knew it would be and he is now 20 dollars poorer; he feels kind of entitled to flopping down on his bed. 

 

"He's right, you know." 

 

Evan doesn't say anything, he knows the ghost will say whatever he wants, whether he answers or not.  

 

"People will start saying we were fucking." 

 

Evan flinches, opens one eye, chances a look at Connor. The boy doesn't look too bothered by the idea, but then again, Evan supposes dying must put some things in perspective. 

 

"Thanks a lot, by the way. As if I needed anymore stereotypes going on." 

 

Okay, maybe Evan had been wrong, Connor is kind of upset, but it's not like he is some kind of Murphy expert. 

 

Still, he sits on his bed and turns to look fully at the ghost. Connor is laying on the floor, by the window, stretched out lazily in the sun and still dressed the same as the first day of their senior year.  

 

And it's kind of painful to watch, because Connor doesn't look dead. There isn't paleness or spilled blood or rotten corpse. He's still looking the same, if only a little more tired.  

 

Sad. 

 

Isn't death supposed to be a a relief? 

 

But then again, Connor died but he is still sticking around, even if Evan seems to be the only one who can see him. And how frustrating must that be? To expect everything to finally end, only to wake up again in an even shittier situation? 

 

Evan got his arm broken in the summer, but he doesn't think it's the same thing at all. 

 

_( maybe just a little )_  

 

"I'm sorry," Evan starts quietly, "I'll talk with Jared. He'll make it look better." 

 

Connor finally opens his eyes, raises one eyebrow at him and Evan can _feel_ the sarcasm rolling off him, but _fine, he may have a point._   

 

"Whatever," the ghost closes his eyes again, looking almost like he's sleeping in the sun, "how is this fixing shit by the way?" 

 

Evan starts fidgeting, "well, I figured that, maybe, if your parents saw a few emails, they, uh, might forget about it? Like it will become old news or something. _Hopefully_ _?_ " 

 

"Sounds like 'em." 

 

The words are dripping with bitterness and tired resignation, twisted and broken, tearing at the seams. 

 

And it's not Connor accepting Evan's plan. It's not agreeing and it's not enough of a compromise. It's fragile and damaged, a battered white flag. It's almost like yielding but not quite; not a leap of faith but maybe an olive branch. 

 

Evan thinks it might mean progress. 

 

"So, you're just going to keep haunting me, now? Not that I'm kicking you out-- I'm not, really, I don't think you can kick a ghost-- well, maybe you can, probably, being in the same astral plane and all and. Yeah. So?" 

 

"Well, it's not like I have better things to do." Connor half shrugs, still sprawled on the floor.  

 

"You could," Evan hesitates, "visit your family?"  

 

"Like I said, 's not like I have better stuff to do." 

 

Evan shakes his head, half wonders if he isn't really hallucinating. The whole situation feels surreal, like some sort of bizarre alternate reality. He thinks this must have been what it felt like for Alice, falling for forever down the rabbit hole, only to find the strangest things at the bottom.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, you got to the end? Da-amn.
> 
> Comments and kudos are my bread and butter, so maybe consider one or the other and make me real happy?
> 
> Or come scream with me at [wearealltalesintheend.tumblr.com](wearealltalesintheend.tumblr.com)<


	3. no point in planting your roots, ( 'cause you're gone in a hurry )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Dear Evan Hansen,_
> 
> _We've been way too out of touch. Things have been crazy and it sucks that we don't talk that much._
> 
> _But I should tell you that I think of you each night, I rub my nipples and start moaning with delight-"_
> 
>  
> 
> or, Jared references musicals, Evan is Done with this Shit, and Connor is Tired of this Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so big thanks for user Witchjuliana for letting me use her amazing line for Jared, I hope I did it justice!
> 
> And even more thanks for the amazing [antlereddoodles](https://antlereddoodles.tumblr.com/) for putting up with me and proof reading this mess of a chapter!

_"Dear Evan Hansen,_     

 

_We've been way too out of touch. Things have been crazy and it sucks that we don't talk that much._  

 

_But I should tell you that I think of you each night, I rub my nipples and start moaning with delight-"_  

 

_"Why would you write that?"_ Evan screeches and feels heat creeping up his neck, he is definitely _not_ looking at Connor, "Jared, what the hell, this needs to be _perfect!_ " 

 

"What? I'm just trying to make it more realistic!" Jared is laughing. He is having the time of his life making fun of Evan here. He is _giggling._ "Trust me, you need to calm down, I know what I'm doing. By the way, for your first date you guys went to the 7/11 two blocks down and he bought you a slushie." 

 

"Did I sing you my sob story, too?" Connor snorts and rolls his eyes from where he's sitting cross-legged in the bed. "Very original." 

 

Evan ignores him in favor of pinching the bridge of his nose and glaring, "Jared, this isn't _Heathers._ "  

 

"Shame, you'd be a good Veronica." 

 

"Well, he's not wrong," the ghost gives him an once over, eyeing him critically before piping in, "how good are you at forgery?" 

 

"Don't encourage him!" Evan fights a blush from spreading and wails,  throwing his arms in the air. 

 

"Who are you talking to?" Jared is looking puzzled at him and _oh, right_. 

 

"No one!" He flushes, takes the computer from the boy, _"just let me do it_." 

 

Evan deletes the last paragraph entirely and stares blankly at the computer screen, what is he supposed to write? _How_ is he supposed to write anything, what, with Connor sitting on his bed and looking on amusedly?  

 

"Dude, are you having an aneurysm or what? I don't have all day." Jared says snapping his fingers, "Come on, chop, chop. Unless you want me to do it?"   

 

"There is no fucking way Jared " _I once ate a bathbomb at Lush_ " Kleinman is passing as me." Connor frowns, gives the other boy a dark look and comes to stand beside Evan, "just write what I say, alright?" 

 

_"I've gotta tell you life's been shit. School sucks and I'm out of weed, my parents are fighting all the time and I wish I at least had my fucking door back-"_  

 

"Wow," Jared starts, "somehow you are making it sound _exactly_ like Connor," he pauses, "are you _sure_ you two  weren't secret gay lovers?" 

 

"Jared, _shut up!"_ Evan is blushing, he knows, he can feel the heat spreading on his neck and cheeks, and he can't look at Connor, not when he is so close like this, hunched over to peer at the computer screen, and Evan can feel the cold rolling off the ghost and goosebumps are breaking on his skin. 

 

"Man, I wish I had shoved _him_ to the ground when I had the chance." Connor complains but he also takes a step back and straightens a little, so now Evan can _breathe_ again. 

 

"Dude, you are hyperventilating-" Jared cleans his glasses with his shirt. 

 

"I'm not hyperventilating." 

 

"-you're having considerable trouble breathing-" 

 

"I'm not-" 

 

"-do you need a paper bag?" 

 

" _I'm not hyperventilating!"_  

 

Evan takes a deep breath, he can do this, he just needs to ignore Jared. He looks up at Connor, snorts at the scowl the ghost is directing at the other boy. 

 

_"Dear Connor Murphy,_  

 

_Yes, I also miss our talks. Stop doimg drugs, just try to take deep breaths and go on walks-"_  

 

"Right, if only I knew it was _th_ _at_ easy!"  

 

_"- I'm sending pictures of the most amazing trees-"_  

 

"No!" Jared sounds almost embarassed, while Connor shakes his head and says, "Jesus, you're such a dork." 

 

They are flanking Evan, one on each side, and he is suddenly reminded of the image of an angel and the devil on someone's shoulder. Although Evan can't really decide hot to sort them into the roles, the picture of Connor with fluffy white wings and a halo pops on his mind and _why is he blushing again?_  

 

"- _y_ _ou'll be obsessed with all my forest expertise!"_  

 

"Absolutely not!" 

 

" _Dork."_  

 

" _-Dude, I'm proud of you, just keep pushing through. You're turning around, I can see! All that it takes..."_  

 

It gets easier then, to just run with it and write. It feels a little like writing to himself, parroting the words he heard all his life.  

 

_"-our friendship goes beyond your average kind of bond-"_  

 

"That's one way to put it alright." Connor snorts and Evan shoots him a glare. 

 

_"But not because we're gay! The only man that I love is my dad. Well, anyway-"_  

 

"Smooth, Hansen, real smooth." The ghost shakes his head and there is something in his voice that Evan can't quite identify, and it makes him shiver and huddle his hoodie closer to himself, but then Jared is cackling behind him and Evan feels the tip of his ear get hot with embaressment and his mind is thoroughly occupied. 

 

_"you're getting better everyday..."_  

 

Evan huffs in annoyance and dives into writing. He tries not to think on how this needs to be good enough to fool the Murphys, to fool _Zoe_.  

 

_"_ Are we done yet?" Jared whines, sounding bored, "I have better things to do than watch you digging your own grave to impress Zoe, lover boy." 

 

"What? No! That's not why-- I just-- _No._ " He signs his name and saves the document, opening a new blank page, "I can't just show them one email, I want to show them I was a good friend, you know. That I was trying to help." 

 

"Show _Zoe,_ you mean?" 

 

_"Jared!"_  

 

The boy laughs and settles against the arm of the chair; Evan flinches away, sinking further in the seat. He writes the emails and the words flow easier with each sentence, the words waving together into what he supposes could have happened had things turned out different.  

 

It's only after the emails are printed and Jared has gone home with the warning for Evan to tell his mom he had come over, that Evan realizes Connor isn't there anymore. 

 

. 

. 

. 

 

It's the middle of the night. 

 

Evan knows it because he had been sleeping until five seconds ago, when the lights had been suddenly turned on on their own, flooding the room with brightness and waking him up in alarm, only to find Connor's smug face staring back at him from the doorway. 

 

"Oh, jeez, did I wake you up?" The ghost asks, sounding not sorry at all, "whoops, my bad." 

 

Evan sighs, drags a hand over his face in frustration, "what do you want, Connor?" 

 

"Me? Nothing, nothing, just testing the eletric system, you know?" He flicks the lights on and off to prove his point, "see? Now you know they're working." 

 

Evan sighs again. It's becoming his thing, now. "Connor, please, it's 3am- _oh"_  

 

"I know right?" The ghost smirks pleased with himself, "It's the witching hour, I'm pretty sure I'm bound to haunt you right now, so, would you prefer dragging chains around or some good ol' banging of doors and windows?" 

 

"Connor-" 

 

"Sorry, I don't make the rules. So, if you had to choose?" 

 

"You're literally making the rules up right now-" 

 

"Oh right, you would know." 

 

"What?" Evan squeaks out, he is not proud of it, but he _squeaks,_ "Is this about the emails, because I thought you were fine with it-- you _said_ you were fine with it-- aren't you fine with it? Because I ca-" 

 

"No, I mean, maybe-- it's not a big deal," Connor looks down, smoothes his clothes, which is pointless in Evan's opinion, because can a ghost really get wrinkles on his shirt? "it's just, I thought-- forget about it, it's stupid," the ghost looks away, seems to gather himself, "anyway, you didn't pick your haunting of the day, night, really." 

 

Evan crosses his legs and tries to make himself more comfortable, settles and looks at Connor. The ghost is pointedly not looking at him, choosing to pick at a loose scrap of wallpaper instead but he seems to be having some trouble staying solid, as his fingers go through the paper more than once. He looks tired again, sad, and Evan feels a familiar stab of guilt and pain, "uh, I guess, if I _had to,_ I'd say chains?" 

 

"Banging doors it is, then!" 

 

Despite the fake cheerfulness, Connor doesn't move. He stays in the doorway, besides the light switch, looking unsure of what to do. It strikes Evan for the first time that the other boy might not know what he is doing either. 

 

"So, where did you, uh, go, this afternoon?" Evan winces at his words, he doesn't mean to come across as accusing, "I mean, you were there, and then, you... weren't?" He trails off, regretting have ever started the question. 

 

"Well, you said to try to take deep breaths and go on walks," Connor shrugs, "so I did."  

 

"Seriously?"  

 

"No, but it's not like I can light up a joint like this, so forgive me for being a little antsy after listening to Jared fucking Kleinman and his shitty jokes." 

 

Connor glares at him for a second before disappearing, leaving Evan alone on his room once more.  

 

He sighs, drags himself out of bed and turns off the light. It's not 4am yet, he still has time to go back to sleep and pretend his life isn't being turned upside down. 

 

And he does sleep, and if he dreams of blue skies and a yellow field, and things that might have been, well, nobody needs to know. 

 

But it's not until he wakes up the next morning, that Evan realizes the lights had been turned on again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so, leaving comments and kudos really make me happy but you can also come talk to me on [my tumblr](wearealltalesintheend.tumblr.com).
> 
> and hey? Thanks.


	4. so long lives this, ( and this gives life to thee )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _""Hey, Evan, right? I heard you were friends with Connor? I am sorry, man."_
> 
> _That was, perhaps, the tenth student to stop Evan in the hallways and give him their sentiments._
> 
> _Evan finds it unsettling and very uncomfortable._
> 
> _"Ha! He's the asshole in my APUSH class, isn't he? Quick, Evan, tell him my dying wish was for him to dye his hair purple and punch himself in the face!"_
> 
> _Connor, on the other hand, finds it hilarious and an endless source of amusement._
> 
>  
> 
> or, Evan shows the emails, there's a fire, and Connor visits his family. Not necessarily in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I recognise that this is very late, but man, university takes time, damn.
> 
> And also, this little plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone until I finished it, so I had to post this ridiculous one shot first because apparently I crave Christmas fluff on May now. You can find the disgusting fluff culprit for my lateness [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10943409)
> 
> Anyway, on with the story.

"Hey, Evan, right? I heard you were friends with Connor? I am sorry, man."  

 

That was, perhaps, the tenth student to stop Evan in the hallways and give him their sentiments.  

 

Evan finds it unsettling and very uncomfortable. 

 

"Ha! He's the asshole in my APUSH class, isn't he? Quick, Evan, tell him my dying wish was for him to dye his hair purple and punch himself in the face!" 

 

Connor, on the other hand, finds it hilarious and an endless source of amusement. 

 

Life with a ghost running a non-stop commentary of your daily life is starting to prove itself rather tiring.  

 

"Hey, you got Chemistry now, right? Do you think I can make something blow up- Evan you should make something blow up." 

 

Connor seems to have learned how to float during the past couple of days and now abhorrs walking like a normal, living creature, choosing to stay five inches off the ground. Evan finds that's also unsettling and very umconfortable, but then again, he seems to find most things these days to be disconcerting to varying degrees. 

 

One hour later, purple flames flare up from his and Jared's becker with horrifying intensity and triggering the anti-fire system. 

 

Most of the students gape and step back. 

 

The teacher looks pained and maybe regretting a lot of life decisions. 

 

Connor, still floating beside Evan and suspisciously close to a half empty jar of Potassium Chloride that _definetely hadn't been there before_ , looks tired but with frightening amounts of glee in his eyes. 

 

Evan watches horrified and with rising panic as the flames valiantly resist the falling water. 

 

In the background, the fire alarm goes off and Jared cackles. 

 

As he said, unsettling and very umconfortable. 

 

( Hilarious and an endless source of amusement. ) 

 

. 

. 

. 

 

 _( "Hi, Zoe, hi!"_  

 

 _"Hey."_  

 

 _"How, uh, how are you?"_  

 

 _"Good. Hey, do you know what happened at the Chemistry labs? They're saying some idiot set some shit on fire?"_  

 

 _"What? No, no. Why would I know-- No. I have no idea. What an idiot, uh? Setting things on fire. No, I don't know."_  

 

 _"Oh, all right. Well, I need to go. Bye, Evan."_  

 

 _"Sure, I'm sure you have class, sure. Bye, uh, have a good day!"_  

 

 _..._  

 

 _"Smooth, Evan, what a casanova."_  

 

 _"Connor, please, shut up." )_  

 

 _._  

 _._  

 _._  

 

"Are you sure you want to go in?" Evan asks concerned, as they approach the Murphy's household, "I mean, that must be weird right?" 

 

"No, yeah, yeah. I mean, I'll be fine, sure."   

 

Connor looks anything but fine, in Evan's opinion. The ghost had been flickering in and out of existence since they left Evan's house, looking eerily like a computer glitch and steadfastly ignoring it, along with the random bone-chilling cold that rolled off him each time he reappered looking less and less solid. Evan thinks his hands might have been shaking, but before he could say anything, Connor had stuffed them in his hoodie's pockets. 

 

"You don't have to come in, you know. I mean, you _can,_ it's your house and all, but you don't _have to._ " 

 

"Evan. If you ask me one more time, I swear to god-" 

 

The sentence cuts off as he vanishes once more, his voice carrying in the wind and dying out. Evan waits for another minute, standing a few feet away from the house's porch and debating wether he should wait for Connor or move along, before finally deciding it looked too stalkerish. 

 

He takes a deep breath, clutches the printed emails a little tighter, rings the doorbell. 

 

It's Mrs. Murphy that opens the door, grief and sadness written in the lines of her face, deep within her eyes. Evan wants to bolt, run all the way home, he wants to tell her the truth, tell her he had never spoken with her son when he was alive, never went to the orchade, never knew there was an ice cream place called A la Mode. 

 

Instead, he smiles, he goes in. 

 

She leads him into the living room, tells him _sit down, dinner will be ready in a moment!_   

 

Evan tries to tell her he can't stay for dinner, but she doesn't listen, she doesn't want to listen; and he really can't stay, because his mother will notice it, and then she'll ask questions and he'll have to lie again and say he was at Jared's, and then  he will have to call Jared and beg him to corroborate his story and- 

 

"Dude, hey, Evan? Oi!"  

 

-and Connor is snapping his fingers in front of Evan's face, the other hand on his shoulder, and it breaks off his train of thoughts, because it's _so weird._ The hand on his shoulder feels almost solid but not quite, and the cold seeping through his clothes is comforting, it's something he can focus on, grasp and anchor himself enough to reach for his meds.  

 

"Evan?" Connor speaks quietly, sounding tentative and unsure, "are you, uh, I mean, are you okay?" 

 

"Yeah, no, I'm fine," because he _is_ getting better, the pressure in his chest is easing up and oxygen is filling his lungs, "I-- thank you." 

 

Before Connor can say anything else, Cynthia Murphy walks back into the room, sad smile in place, "oh my, it's cold in here, the thermostat must have broken again, that thing is so old, you know?" She rubs her arms, wraps the cardigan tighter, "anyway, you said you had something to show?" 

 

Evan fidgets; he looks at Connor but the ghost is standing stiffly beside him, face blank and eyes far away, all the walls back up even higher. 

 

"I-- yes, yes, of course, the, hm, emails?" He offers her the now crumpled papers, "I, hm, printed some of them?" 

 

"You printed them?"  

 

Her voice wavers and cracks, sad and hopeful, and she clutches it to her chest like a lifeline. She thanks Evan and crushes him into a hug.  

 

And Evan doesn't dare looking back at Connor, because it's awkward and embarassing and a little sad and it feels wrong at the edges, but he knows the ghost is around because the room is still cold and the shadows grow longer. 

 

"What are you doing here?" 

 

It's Zoe walking in through the door, and she's all Evan sees. 

 

She looks beautiful, Evan thinks, even if she looks angry. It's a storm in an ocean he would gladly drown in.  

 

But as far as fight or flight responses go, Evan's is pretty reliable to choose fleeing every time; so he excuses himself hurriedly as mother and daughter argue in the living room. He thinks he might have seen Larry's car parking in the garage, but he walks briskly past it without making sure.  

 

It's only when he turns the corner that Evan stops and Connor appears beside him. 

 

"I think I-" 

 

"You-" 

 

They both pause, silence stretches out; it's a rubber band being stretched on and on and on and on.  

 

It snaps. 

 

"I'm uh, I think I'm staying, here? For a while, just to-- you know, my sister, I-- I need to know if-- I need to know." Connor says quietly, voice sad and broken and quiet, and Evan doesn't know what to say to that, how to fix any of it, and then something shifts again and the ghost squares his shoulders, his face hard and storms in his eyes, "I don't know why I'm telling you this." 

 

The lamp post above them flicks out with the hissing sound of electricity and Connor is gone, leaving glass shards and black smoke in his place. 

 

What is it they say about smoke and mirrors? 

 

Evan watches the smoke billowing in the wind, slowly rising up and fading in the air. It feels like he just missed something, it feels like he fell short of something.  

 

He shakes his head, kicks the glass shards down the curb, starts walking back home. He hadn't noticed earlier, with Connor nervously babbling beside him, but it's quiet uptown.  

 

. 

. 

. 

 

It's well into the night, or maybe early in the morning, or even somewhere in between, when Evan wakes up.  

 

It's dark in his room, and he's not sure what disturbed his sleep at first, but then the sound of a hiccup carries from the open window, and Evan blinks, throws out the covers, tiptoes out of bed to look outside. 

 

There is the moon, high and pale on the dark sky, and there are stars, brilliant and infinite; there is the wind, howling and cold, and there are the trees, stoic and ancient.  

 

And there is Connor, sitting against the wall right outside the window, knees drawn up to his chest, crying softly. 

 

"Connor?" Evan leans against the windowsill, calls quietly, but his voice still startles the boy, hands flying to dry away tears, "it's late. Come inside?" 

 

The ghost looks up wide-eyed, as if surprised by Evan's offer, but scrambled up and floated through the window anyway.  

 

"D'you want a side of the bed?" Evan padded back barefooted, "or the air mattress?" 

 

Connor is still floating awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking out of it and a little shellshocked, and when he speaks, his voice trembles and cracks, "I-- no, thanks. But I, I don't sleep, since, you know."  

 

"Oh. Okay," Evan sits cross-legged on the bed, "do you want to, hm, talk?" 

 

"No, not really, no." The words are rushed and earnest , "go back to sleep, yeah, sorry to, wake you up or whatever." 

 

Evan eyes him suspisciously, trying to determine if he should let it go, but Connor fidgets, flickers, and eventually settles himself on the floor between the wall and the bed, laying down and playing with a penny he found on the ground. 

 

Silence falls again, and Evan is slipping away again, engulfed by the darkness and falling asleep, when the ghost speaks up, voice small and hesitant, "Evan? Can you-- could you let a light on?" 

 

He doesn't answer, instead reaching for the lamp on the bedside table and turning it on. It casts a yellow faded light, but there's a sigh from the floor, so he assumes it must be enough. 

 

"G'night, Connor." 

 

He falls asleep after that, without waiting for a reply, floating away into nothing and thoughts trailing off. 

 

Smoke and mirrors, right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you made it to the end! Once again comments and kudos are my wine and bread, so leaving a few here would be very nice.
> 
> And once again, if you want some fluff go check out my not so new fic.
> 
> And hey? Thanks.


	5. be careful with that one, love ( he'll do what it takes to survive )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He didn't expect to find Connor standing across the small wooden table, eyes focused and forehead wrinkling in concentration, lips pressed in a thin line as he tried to touch the glass in front of him._
> 
> _Evan remembers that glass, he had forgotten it there this morning in his hurry to get to the bus stop in time. But Connor seems to be having trouble staying solid enough not to phase through it._
> 
> _"What? Oh," the ghost flickers for a moment, looks down, "I'm just, practicing, you know? Ghost stuff."_
> 
>  
> 
> or, Connor's adventures with Ghost 101, Evan meets Zoe, and everything burns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so, I'm back! 
> 
> This chapter was weird to write? And I think a little of my prose bled through but I couldn't be arsed to rewrite this thing, so I hope it works out in the end. Fingers crossed.
> 
> Also, there are greek references and sun references because i'm a Nerd. What can I do.
> 
> I think this is it? Yeah, so I hope y'all like it and let me know if there's mistakes.

"Hey, you weren't at school toda-" Evan stops, brows knitting together in confusion, "what are you doing?" 

 

Morning had passed in a blur of classes and people giving him their sentiments, uneventful and normal and _boring_ without the ghost poking fun at the teachers and students. Evan hadn't noticed how much noise and space Connor took until he was alone again.  

 

So, when the bell rang, Evan gathered his things, slung his bag on his shoulders and took the bus home in a fast pace. It wasn't worry growing and festering on the pit of his stomach, it wasn't missing and it wasn't caring. It wasn't. 

 

But it did feel an awfully lot like it.  

 

It's just that Evan had grown used to the ghost always hovering around, so to go without it was weird and strange and left him a little unbalanced.  

 

Anyway. 

 

He's not sure what he had been expecting though, the moment he walked into the kitchen. It hadn't been this, that's for sure.  

 

He didn't expect to find Connor standing across the small wooden table, eyes focused and forehead wrinkling in concentration, lips pressed in a thin line as he tried to touch the glass in front of him.  

 

Evan remembers that glass, he had forgotten it there this morning in his hurry to get to the bus stop in time. But Connor seems to be having trouble staying solid enough not to phase through it.  

 

"What? _Oh,"_ the ghost flickers for a moment, looks down, "I'm just, practicing, you know? Ghost stuff." 

 

Evan frown deepens, "you seemed pretty good at it three days ago when you trashed my room." 

 

"Yeah, I was pretty, hm, angry then." 

 

Wait. "You can only do stuff when you're angry?" 

 

Connor huffs, gives up on the glass and looks up at Evan, "well, not only angry. Just upset in general." 

 

That makes sense, he thinks. At least according to the lore on ghosts, and all the horror movies. Not that he looked it up. Nope.  

 

"It's not a big deal," the ghost shrugs, aiming for casual and missing it by a mile, "I just wanted to be able to touch stuff without, you know, trashing it." 

 

"Oh. Okay, I'll help you." Evan says, mind already reeling, trying to think of sites reliable enough to helo them, or maybe books? Yeah, they might need to hit the library, or perhaps some old, shady bookstore that might sell cursed items?  

 

"-lp me?" 

 

Connor had been talking, he realizes sheepishly, "I'm sorry, what?" 

 

"I said, _you_ want to help _me?_ "  

 

And there's a look on his face, confusion and disbelief and surprise, and it's sad and it's familiar, so Evan softens, doe brown eyes saying _I know, I've been there too_ , and tells him aloud instead, "yeah, I mean, that's the least I can do." 

 

It's not the right thing to say, but it's not the wrong either, he finds as the ghost stiffens, steels himself, but his eyes remain fixed on the glass.  

 

"Okay, sure. Whatever." 

 

It's somewhere in the middle. 

 

. 

. 

. 

 

_( "About last night-"_  

 

_"We're not talking about that."_  

 

_"But you-"_  

 

_"Nope. I'm out."_  

 

_"Connor, wait-- and he's gone. Great. )_  

 

_._  

_._  

_._  

 

Days go by, Evan is not sure how many of them, but there's trips to the library and there's shady bookstores with creepy old women and creepy old things. 

 

There's reading until eyes droop, heavy with sleep, and there's staying until the sun chases the night away and sunlight streams in through the window. 

 

And there's dinner at the Murphy's, awkward turned companiable turned ordinary turned routine. And there isn't his mother; always busy, always working, always in motion, never home. 

 

There's companiable silence and there's heated conversations, there's frustration and anger and lashing out, and there's progress and small victories and brilliant smiles.  

 

In the middle, there's beginning. 

 

. 

. 

. 

 

_( "Connor this book says you need to focus, like really, really focus."_  

 

_"Well, I'm trying. It's kinda hard with you breathing down my neck."_  

 

_"Oh, sorry. I'm sorry."_  

 

_"It's fine, just-- take a step back okay?"_  

 

_"Well, you're the one with a complete disregard for personal space!"_  

 

_"Well, fuck, I'm a ghost, I have a free pass for that kind of shit, now,_ move. _"_  

 

_"Fine, bu-- wait! It moved! You did it! Are you angry-- no, were you angry? Or upset or something?"_  

 

_"No, I-- Evan, stop-"_  

 

_"I know, I know, it was just a couple of inches, but-- come on, it's a start!"_  

 

_"Yeah, it's a start." )_  

 

_._  

_._  

_._  

 

It's Connor's room, Evan shouldn't be here.  

 

It feels like crossing a line, it feels like invading his privacy, it feels like intruding.  

 

But Connor doesn't seem to mind, floating above his bed, never touching the dark sheets. When Evan lingered in the doorway for the first time, the ghost shrugged, said _It's only fair_ and that had been that. 

 

So, they're both in Connor's old room, looking at old comic books and sidestepping a thousand white elephants in the room, when Zoe comes in. 

 

She's beauty, she's poetry; she's everything Evan longed and ached and idealized. And she's there. 

 

She's the sun, and Evan thinks he doesn't mind melting his wings if it means knowing her. He knows falling, he imagines it feels a lot like flying. 

 

"Does your mom know you spend so much time here?" Zoe asks, storms brewing behind her irises, "doesn't she mind?" 

 

"No, she, uh, she's working most nights or, or studying. She's studying to be a paralegal, you know?" Evan stammers, wipes his hands on his jeans, "she doesn't mind, that is." 

 

"Well, why _are_ you here, anyway?" She steps in, arms crossed, defensive, "don't you have better things to do?" 

 

"Me?" he squeaks, clears his throat, hurries on, "no, I, of course, it's just-- he was my best friend and-" 

 

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Zoe rolls her eyes, bitterness and hurt and anger dripping down on the carpet, burning sizzling holes on the tiles underneath, "you spent such great times together. What an amazing friend he was. _So nice._ " 

 

There's rustling on his left and the room is cold, and Evan is reminded Connor is still here, he's there and he's listening and- 

 

" _Zoe-"_ It's whispered and sound carries in the room, echoing and floating, but it doesn't reach her; it's like they are parallel lines now, never crossing, never meeting. Except maybe somewhere in the infinite, "it's not like that-- _damn it."_  

 

Connor looks frustrated and sad and heartbroken, and Evan needs to do something, so he blurts out, "He thought you were awesome!" 

 

There's silence. Connor looks stunned, Zoe looks surprised, and Evan is reminded how alike the siblings are. 

 

"He did? _How?_ " 

 

Zoe sounds small and young and vulnerable and _hopeful_ , so Evan isn't surprised when he glances at Connor and the ghost nods, lips pressed in a thin line and eyes bright, "well, yeah, he uh, he said your smile, it's sort of subtle and soft and real, and you don't know how that can make someone feel, but he, uh, he never knew, how to-- how to tell you that, so he just-- kept it all in." Evan licks his lips, heart pounding, "and like, he knew how you scribble little stars on the cuff of your jeans when you're bored and how you still fill out the quizzes on those teen magazines. He just-- he felt like you were a million words apart and how do you cross a distant like that, you known, he couldn't find a way." 

 

Evan should stop, he needs to stop before he makes a bigger mess of things. 

 

"What else did he say?" 

 

No, no more lies. 

 

"It doesn't matter, I don't even care anyway-" 

 

Evan never knew when to stop anyway, how could he start learning now? 

 

Zoe's a sun, Evan is just caught in the gravitational pull. When he crashes, it's just colateral damage. It's inevitable. 

 

"No, no no, he said lots of things, I'm just trying to choose the best ones-" 

 

It's like watching a moth willingly diving into the flame. 

 

. 

. 

. 

 

Evan kisses Zoe. 

 

It's messy and quick and wrong, and she pushes him away. 

 

He's left alone with his thoughts and regrets and _stupid, stupid why did he do that?_  

 

It occurs to him he doesn't know when Connor left. 

 

Evan buries his head in his hands. He fears he might have burned more than one bridge tonight.  

 

He's Paris, watching Troy burn. 

 

. 

. 

. 

 

It's midnight and Connor isn't here. 

 

Evan's not worried, he's just-- 

 

He worries. 

 

He turns and tosses on the bed, sheets tangling and covers weighting him down.  

 

It's midnight and Connor isn't here, hasn't been since he left the Murphy's, and it's weird and it breaks routine; the light is still off since he went to bed. There isn't anyone pestering him before the half light lulls him to sleep. 

 

And Evan is alone and he gets trapped in his head, a labyrinth of thoughts, a maze with tall ivy covered walls of emotions and feelings and memories. He can never find his way out. Or what lies in the center.  

 

So Evan wonders, when you want something for so long, how do you know you still do?  

 

_Do I love you or the idea of you?_  

 

Evan wonders and wonders and wonders and _hopes._  

 

There isn't much for him to do now, except wait, and wonder, and hope. 

 

In the morning, it'll look better. There's something to be said about new dawns and rising suns. 

 

There's war going on inside his head, and Connor isn't here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, you made it? Daamn.
> 
> Now, comments are my life and blood, so that would be very nice, or you can come scream at me on [my tumblr.](wearealltalesintheend.tumblr.com)
> 
> And hey? Thanks.


	6. can't we be seventeen? ( is that so hard to do? )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Honey," Heidi says over breakfast, and her voice has that tone she gets when she's gonna try and have a talk with him, so Evan braces himself, "what's wrong? What's with the sad face?"_
> 
> _Evan snorts; he doesn't say I fucked up. I kissed Zoe in her dead brother's bed and she pushed me away._
> 
> _Connor's been haunting me since this mess started but he's gone now._
> 
> _I think he was my friend._
> 
> _It's been two days, I think I miss him._
> 
> _I fucked up._
> 
> _He says instead, "nothing! Nothing's wrong-- why would anything be wrong? I'm not sad. I'm not."_
> 
>  
> 
> or, Evan sulks, Alana makes an appearence, and Connor is better at throwing things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, so chapters might get a little few and far in between, because i have a lot of things to work on for my degree, so there's that, but-- wonders of wonders! -- I'm trying to keep up some sort of writing schedule!
> 
> Unimportant bit of information: I just finished reading Gone Girl, and holy shit that book blew my mind, i loved it??? so much???
> 
> Anyway, I hope y'all like it.

"Honey," Heidi says over breakfast, and her voice has that tone she gets when she's gonna try and have a _talk_ with him, so Evan braces himself, "what's wrong? What's with the sad face?"

 

Evan snorts; he doesn't say _I fucked up. I kissed Zoe in her dead brother's bed and she pushed me away._

 

_Connor's been haunting me since this mess started but he's gone now._

_I think he was my friend._

 

_It's been two days, I think I miss him._

 

_I fucked up._

 

He says instead, "nothing! Nothing's wrong-- why would anything be wrong? I'm not sad. I'm not."

 

And that's a mistake, because now his mother has that look on her eyes that says _I will understand_ , and Evan doubts that very much, "oh, kiddo, you know you can tell me anything, right?"

 

"Yeah, I know, thanks, mom. Uh. I gotta go. To school. Yes, bye."

 

Evan gathers his things quickly, bag over his shoulders, and is almost safely out of the door when Heidi calls out again, "Have a good day, honey! Don't forget to write the letters! And turn that frown upside down!"

 

Yeah, everything's upside down alright.

 

.

.

.

 

_Dear Evan Hansen,_

 

_Today's going to be a good day and here's w-_

 

_{ <command: delete file>......._

_processing...._

_Are you sure you want to delete this file?....._

_< Yes>......_

_53% loading..... please, don't turn off your computer......_

_< file deleted>. }_

 

.

.

.

 

"Okay, you're sulking and it's depressing me," Jared corners him on the way to their English class, "out with it."

 

"What?" Evan sputters, presses himself flat against the lockers, looks around the hallway in search of potential witnesses, you know, just in case, "I'm not sulking! Why does everyone think I'm sulking? I'm not sulking, you're sulking."

 

Jared has his eyebrows raised high on his hairline, hands hovering placating in front of him, "okay, because that wasn't weird at all. Why do you have to be so weird all the time, Jesus, be more chill."

 

Evan wants to glare, to scream and push back, because Jared doesn't even like hanging out with him and Jared sometimes can be a bully and an asshole, and Evan is already having an incredibly shitty time and all he wants is to throw himself a pity party and wallow in guilty and self loathing. It's not too much to ask, is it? "Just leave it alone. We're going to be late for English, come on. Please."

 

The boy narrows his eyes behind his glasses, "it's about the Zoe fiasco, isn't it? I gotta tell you, that was some very poor timing, lover boy."

 

He's not too far off the mark, technically speaking, Evan has to give him that, "I know, you don't have to remind me every five minutes. It was a bad idea."

 

Jared laughs; he guffaws, snorts, giggles, because Jared is an idiot and an asshole, "man, bad idea? Bad idea is eating a bath bomb. _This?_ This is like the mother of all bad ideas. Bad ideas: Origins." He stops, chews something over, "well, at least you got to kiss her. You've been pining since what, freshmen year?"

 

Has it been so long? Evan couldn't remember. Being in love with Zoe Murphy had been a part of him for as long as he could remember high school, mostly because Zoe had looked so beautiful and it had been so easy to let his heart be swayed by soft curves and shy smiles.

 

"Yeah, something like that."

 

.

.

.

 

 **5:33pm, unknown number sent:** _Hi, Evan! This is Alana Beck, we have Chemistry and AP Bio together. Zoe Murphy gave me your number._

 

**5:36pm, Evan sent:** _hi?_

 

**5:36pm, Alana sent:** _Okay, so, as you must have noticed, people are starting to forget about Connor. We can't let that happen!_

 

**5:43pm, Evan sent:** _i'm sorry, i don't understand, sorry, what do you mean?_

 

**5:43pm, Alana sent:** _Well, you were his best friend, we have to so something!_

 

**5:50pm, Evan sent:** _no no, you're right_

 

**5:50pm, Evan sent:** _i'm sorry this is just not a good time_

 

**5:51pm, Evan sent:** _sorry_

 

**5:52pm, Alana sent:** _Oh. It's fine, call me if you have any ideas! I'll text you if I think of anything too!_

 

.

.

.

 

Evan isn't scared and he isn't worried.

 

He's not. Really.

 

It's just that-- it's been two days.

 

Connor never stays away for so long, and what if-- what if he's gone for good? What if he's moved on to the otherside or whatever afterlife there is?

 

Evan tries not to think to much on that.

 

But it's been two days, so if he feels a little foolish and a lot stupid, well, he also feels justified.

 

And it's not like there are countless bad franchises of terrible horror movies on how Ouija Boards can screw you over.

 

So Evan sits in his bed, board in front of him, and hesitates. How does one go about starting a seance, anyway?

 

Should he just... touch the pallete? Call out for Connor? Is there a prayer or chanting or what?

 

And how would he know if it really is Connor? And not some demon instead?

 

And how does he banish anything that tries to latch on?

 

 _Oh god,_ what if he opens some gate to hell and brings on the apocalypse?

 

"It's pretty fucking pathetic to buy that shit and then be too much of a coward to use it."

 

Evan yelps in surprise, and falls from the bed, taking the board, covers and half the sheets with him.

 

The temperature is dropping fast, and he can see his own quick, hitched breathing, puffs of air in front of his pace. He can see Connor too, standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed and face contorting in anger.

 

The ghost looks terrible, flickering and half transparent; he's a stained polaroid, blurred at the edges and weathered by time.

 

Evan did spend a lot of time thinking on what to say when he saw Connor again, now, though, his mind is a rabbit in a snowstorm. He is bad at confrontations, he is the guy who keeps his head down and doesn't look people in the eye.

 

He is a wallflower, but he remembers, Connor is very good at being angry.

 

You know what, he'd take accidental gate to hell over this anytime.

 

This is his own personal Apocalypse. He's half expecting the sound of trumpets.

 

"I'm sorry! Please, don't kill me! I'm so, _so_ sorry!" Evan blurts out finally, _finally,_ and it sounds lame to his own ears, "I'll never do that again, I promise, I swear, I'm very, terribly sorry!"

 

"You are _sorry?"_ Connor spits the word out like poison, and maybe they are, "you fucking kissed my sister in my fucking room after telling all kinds of bull _fucking_ shit, you don't get to be fucking _sorry."_

 

Evan winces, looks away, feels the weight of the words settling down on his shoulders, "I know-"

 

"No," a shoe flies past him and collides against the wall, "you don't fucking know, you lying creep. I thought-- fuck that. It was all just god _damn_ bullshit, wasn't it?" The window starts rattling, banging opened and closed, "the whole helping me and shit, it was all just to get closer to Zoe, right? _Poor, idiot Connor, can't even move a fucking glass, I'll play nice while Zoe's around._ " The ghost raises his tone in a mockery of Evan's voice, disgust and anger coloring every word, "well, fuck you, Evan."

 

It's the door's turn to start shaking in its hinges, and the whole room feels like an earthquake; Evan wishes it could open an abyss to swallow him whole.

 

It stings and it hurts and it cuts and it's not true at all, and it feels like something is breaking in a thousand smithereens, and if he tries to glue it back together, he's going to get hurt.

 

But if he leaves the shrapnels out in the open, he'll step on it and bleed all the same.

 

_Damned if I do, damned if I don't._

 

It's not a choice; he'll bite the bullet and swallow the shards.

 

"It's not like that- _please,_ let me explain, _please!"_

 

Connor laughs, and it's not a laugh, it's a dry, hollow, nasty sound that grates in his eardrums and coils his stomach, it's fingernails scratching blackboard. "Then go the fuck ahead, freak. Go on, try me."

 

Evan takes a shaky breath, closes his eyes for a minute, _darkness, my old friend._ "I didn't mean to-- okay, fine, I was in love with Zoe, since uh, freshmen year. But I'd never-- _this_ , has nothing to do with it. I swear. _Nothing._ I lied, so many lies, but it's just that it got out of control and I don't know how to stop anymore, but Connor, _Connor_ , you have to believe me," he eyes the other boy, searches for any sign of forgiveness, pleads, "I want to help you. It's not just guilt, _I want to help you._ I'm so, _so_ sorry."

The ghost stays silent, but nothing is banging or breaking any longer, so Evan takes it as a good sign as he shuffles and fidgets and squirms nervously, anxiously, desperately.

 

Connor flickers on and off, and when he looks up, settles on the room for good, his eyes are soft and sad, "I want to believe you, I really fucking do," he shakes his head, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips, "but I don't know how."

Evan breathes again, oxygen fills and expands his lungs, there is still room for hope. "It's okay," he tries to smile without  it looking like a grimace,"I'll prove it to you."

Connor snorts, and it's a wet, broken, sobbing sound, "you're unbelievable," he barks a laugh again, and it sounds a little more like laughter, "you can't fucking exist."

And they're not okay, and it's not the end of it, but it's a step forward, it's laying down a stone to pave their road.

It's building a bridge of olive branches and white flags, and it's taking a leap of faith.

And then Connor asks, _what did I miss,_ and Evan launches into a story, and it feels almost like believing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, again, comments and kudos water my crops and clear my skin, so dropping either of them would be amazing. You can also come talk to me on [my tumblr.](wearealltalesintheend.tumblr.com)
> 
> And hey? Thanks.


	7. Things I almost remember ( and a song someone sings once upon a December )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"It's a bad day from the start, really._
> 
> _It's one of those days where everything is painted in faded out grey and the colors all look dull. Evan knows it from the start._
> 
> _When he wakes up, his limbs feel heavy and there is a tiredness buried deep in his bones. It's the kind of morning where all he wants is to curl up tighter and pull the covers closer, leaving the world outside._
> 
> _"Dude, your alarm rang like, half an hour ago." "_
> 
>  
> 
> or, Evan hides from Alana, Jared wants to see blood, and Connor has opinions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, hey y'all, so, some of you might have noticed, I made this into a series. There's a few cut and deleted scenes that didn't work here, mostly from Connor's POV, to be honest, and I may be posting them as one shots. 
> 
> Tell me what you think, and what you'd like to see featured on the series.
> 
> I thiks this is all for now, good News is I'm tryingo to keep a writing schedule and post every Sunday. Let's how this works.

It's a bad day from the start, really.  

 

It's one of those days where everything is painted in faded out grey and the colors all look dull. Evan knows it from the start. 

 

When he wakes up, his limbs feel heavy and there is a tiredness buried deep in his bones. It's the kind of morning where all he wants is to curl up tighter and pull the covers closer, leaving the world outside.  

 

"Dude, your alarm rang like, half an hour ago."  

 

Evan shuts his eyes, maybe he can wish it all away if he tries hard enough. 

 

"Okay, look, I know you've been up late last night studying or whatever, but you're gonna miss the bus and then your exam and then you're gonna be bitchy all day, and I don't wanna hear your whining." 

 

 _Go away,_ Evan tells Connor. Maybe. It might have sounded a little muffled by the pillow. He doesn't want to deal with the ghost and everything it entails, he doesn't have the strenght for that today.  

 

There isn't any dip in the mattress or new weight on the bed, but there is cold suddenly radiating from somewhere near his back and a cool hand touching his shoulder. "Evan?"  

 

That must be a new low for him, having a ghost worrying about his welbeing.  

 

"Dude, you gotta get up, come on, it sucks but you'll feel worse if you don't." There's a pause, hesitant, tentative, the cold is beginning to seep into his skin. "Trust me, I would know." 

 

It's supposed to be a joke, but it falls flat, because Connor is dead and Evan still thinks about the day he broke his arm, so he can't find it in himself to laugh. 

 

It takes him another fifteen minutes and the ghost's insistent pestering for Evan to drag himself out of bed and into the bathroom. 

 

They don't talk about it, but Connor follows Evan silently to school. It's building up to a bad day, but at least no one's alone. 

 

. 

. 

. 

 

 _( "You're late, you missed Charlie Sawyer from English turning Peter White from AP Bio down in the hallway. It was savage."_  

 

 _"Jared, not now, please."_  

 

 _"Oh my god, who ran over your puppy this morning?"_  

 

 _"Jared-"_  

 

 _"You know what, nevermind that, who ran over_ you _?"_  

 

 _"..."_  

 

 _"Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine today? Anyway, Alana Beck is looking for you_ _everywhere_ _, and Mike from Spanish says she's been getting very chummy with Zoe lately, so she might be out for your blood."_  

 

 _"Jared, I don't think that's what-"_  

 

 _"Just let me know when you ran into her so I can watch she kick your ass into next week. It'll be legendary, I want it on tape."_  

 

 _"Why do I even- forget it. Bye, Jared."_  

 

 _"What? Where are you going? Don't be like that, I even gave you fair warning! Evan?" )_  

 

 _._  

 _._  

 _._  

 

"Your phone's been blowing up since like, you came home." Connor pops into existence near the window, leaning against the wall and bathing in the sunlight.  

 

"No, I know." Evan refuses to look up from his math homework, "it's nothing." 

 

"Then make it fucking stop," the ghost deadpans, "it makes me want to die again. Who even keeps that standard ringtone anyway?" 

 

"It's probably Alana, I'll talk to her later," he stops briefly, pencil hovering over the equation, "she wants to either talk about you or kill me." 

 

"What, why?" Connor frowns, nose scrunching up in confusion, "to both reasons, actually." 

 

 _Focus on your homework, he can wait, Alana can wait, focus, focus, focus-_ "Well, it's just, you know, people aren't using the uh, buttons anymore?" _Damn it,_ "or, or the wristbands and t-shirts? Sorry." 

 

"Well, good fucking riddance, that was creepy as shit." 

 

"No, no, yeah I guess, but the point is, they're not talking about, uh, you anymore? So, Alana thinks they're forgetting and _I_ should do something about it, so she's been very, insistent? Yeah, very insistent about it, but I don't know what to tell her so I'm-" 

 

"Avoiding the problem?" 

 

"I was gonna say stalling, but that works too." Evan laughs nervously, "so that's it, sorry." 

 

"I'm not surprised," Connor snorts, "no one gives a shit about kids like us." 

 

"Kids like us?" 

 

"Yeah, duh. _Connor Murphy_ , the kid who threw a printer at Mrs.G on second grade," he sounds bitter, like biting a rotten apple, "or _Evan Hansen_ , the kid who had no one to sign his cast. Face it, we are just the losers no one cares about. " 

 

Evan grips the pencil tighter, watches his knuckles turning white, "you don't know that, people might-" 

 

The ghost laughs mockingly, "Listen, guys like you and me, we just keep waiting to be seen, but no one seems to notice that we're there," he softens, "right?" 

 

" _Stop-"_  

 

"And if they forget _me_ , the kid who killed himself, what do you think will happen to you? But Evan," Connor leaves his spot by the sun to stand in front of his desk and lean in, arms bracing his weight and eyes searching Evan's face, "if you can keep 'em thinking of me, then maybe, maybe they'll think of you too." 

 

"What, but that's not why-" 

 

"You don't deserve to be forgotten or to fade away. No one does. Evan, you have to do this, you need to show them." 

 

Evan thinks of this morning, of how if Connor hadn't nagged and poked and cajoled and annoyed him until he got out of bed, he would still be under the covers. He thinks of a summer day, sun high in the sky, of climbing the tallest tree he could find, of feeling so alone and useless and unimportant, of feeling no one would care at all, he thinks how falling feels so much like hope until you hit the ground, thinks of laying the grass, waiting for anyone to come, of the pain and loneliness and lonely trips to the hospital. He thinks of Connor saying _now we can both pretend we are friends._  

 

Perhaps- "You-- you're right, no one deserves to be forgotten, I need to show them we matter too, we all do." Evan smiles, looks up at Connor, "this can help people from..." He trails off, awkward again. 

 

"From being me," the ghost finishes softly, "from doing what I did. No one deserves that. Evan, you have to do this." 

 

"A study group! Dedicated to keep your memory alive, we can set up a site too," he adds, and then, "if you're sure you're okay with this?" 

 

"If we do this right, it can _save people_ ," Connor smiles, sadness pooling in the edges, "how I feel doesn't matter." 

 

"It does to me." Evan rushes out, "it does. That's the whole point of this." 

 

The ghost laugh startled, "uh, sure, listen, no one deserves to disappear. Sometimes all you need is for somebody to find you, so yeah, I'm fucking okay with this." 

 

There's a pause, after it's all settled, where they don't know what to say to each other, but then, "so, hm, what was it, the other reason," Connor asks, "why would Alana want to kill _you_ of all people?" 

 

And now Evan is not sure what part of this answer is going to be more awkward, "it's a funny story, actually, but Jared said that Mike said that Alana is uh, romantically interested in Zoe-- but it's just a rumour! Just a rumour-- and she might have heard that I-- you know." 

 

"Oh. I see." 

 

"Yeah..." 

 

"I think I should go-" 

 

"Oh! All right, okay, I, uh, have to finish this. So-- and he's gone." 

 

. 

. 

. 

 

"Why do you keep turning the lights on?" 

 

They are in Evan's room, the boy having just woken up in the middle of the night by a sudden flood of brightness. For a minute he panicked, thinking he's late for school, but then reality kicked in and panic gave way to irritation at the ghost lounging next to the light switch. 

 

And Evan hadn't meant to ask, really. It just crossed his mind and his brain to mouth filter is very off at this hour of the night. He hadn't meant to ask. 

 

But it's too late now, Connor stills and flickers, going blurry again, face frozen in surprise. "Nothing, really." There is a carefully placed nonchalance in his voice, "mostly to be annoying." 

 

Evan backtracks, wide eyed and cursing his big mouth, _for someone who's anxious all the time, you'd think I would've_ _learned how to keep my mouth shut by now._ "Oh. All right. You don't have to tell me. I mean-- I'd like you to, I'd like to help!-- but you don't _have_ to. It's fine." 

 

"Fucking hell." Connor crosses his arms over his chest, glares, "see, now you went and did that thing and now I have to tell you!" 

 

" _What?_ No, no, what thing?" Evan startles, sits up straighter in his bed, looking around, "Connor, what thing? What did I do-- no, no, you don't have to tell me, that's what I'm trying to say," he shakes his head, "you don't have to tell me anything, but I wish I could help." 

 

His words don't seem to appease the ghost, instead he throws his hands in the air, glaring harder, " _you're doing it again,_ that thing with your face when you--" he gestures vaguely in Evan's general direction, "that's just--" Connor huffs, cheeks red with annoyance, "for fuck's sake, I can't even with you." 

 

And with a final scowl, he disappears from the room, leaving Evan alone, alarmed and confused.  

 

"Connor, wait! What thing? Connor, what thing?" 

 

Well shit. He bets he must be doing something gross. Great. It must be his smile, he knows it's kinda weird and just not great.  

 

He looks at the clock, _5:43am,_ sighs, moves to grab his laptop. It's not like he's going to get any more sleep anyway. 

 

. 

. 

. 

 

It's almost half past six when Connor comes back, frowning and scowling, and on his computer screen _Amélie Poulain_ is looking for the owner of her treasure box. 

 

Evan pauses the movie, sets the laptop aside. He wants to ask him again what is so disturbing about his face, but buries his curiosity instead. In the last month he'd learned, after a lot of trials and errors, it's best to let Connor be and wait for him to talk in his own time. He guesses he owes hin that much. 

 

And it pays off, because after a few minutes of awkward floating in the middle of the room and making it considerably colder, the ghost finally starts speaking, voice wary and defensive, "it's not like there's anything to do about it." 

 

Evan frowns, "what do you mean?" 

 

Connor takes a step closer, looks hesitantly at the empty spot on the bed, and sits down once Evan nods and shuffles to make more room, "the dark. You asked, so-- unless you changed your mind?" 

 

The ghost is almost solid beside him, legs stretched out and hair hiding his face, cold spreading where they touched and Evan thinks this is what having a sleepover might be like, "No, no, I mean, I do, I do want to know, but only if you want me to." 

 

Connor laughs quietly, "shut up, Hansen. Just fucking listen, okay?" He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, "it's all blurred, the first couple of days after I-- you know. But I remember that right after, it was just dark, so _dark,_ and so cold. I was just _floating,_ alone in the darkness, and I didn't know what was going on. I tried calling everyone but-- the point is, I don't know how long I was there, but it felt like forever." Connor clears his throat, voice cracking at the edges, "and I guess the cold never left after that." 

 

Evan feels bile rising to his throat, what do you say to all that? Sorry isn't nowhere near enough. He can't imagine what that must've been like, not knowing anything, lost in the dark.  

"So, sometimes, if it's too dark, I get this feeling I will start drifting away and-- and I might not find my back again. I don't know how I did it, back then, and I don't know how I'm still here. I think," Connor frowns, brows furrowing in concentration, "I think there was someone else, but I don't know, everytime I think about it for too long I get a motherfuckin' headache."  

 

Evan chews at his bottom lip, still processing all the information and unsure of what to do. A nervous laughter threatens to bubble out of his chest, because _holy shit_ they are probably the most fucked up pair out there.  

 

"So there, now you know. Satisfied?" 

 

Connor turns to look at him, pushing his hair out of his eyes, defiant and worried, and Evan wishes they'd met sooner, wishes when his hand brushes Connor's, it found warm skin instead of a cold _almost-but-not-quite-there_. "No. Not until we fix this." He says, feeling suddenly determined; he is never confident, but on this, he is sure.  

 

The ghost barks a laughter, and it's the bitter, wrong, sound again, "we? Fix this? Evan, I'm _dead._ You can't fix that." 

 

"Maybe, but there's got to be more than _this._ I mean, we would've heard of lots more of ghost if there weren't. We'll find a way." 

 

"You're fucking crazy, kid." Connor says, shaking his head, but there's a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, so Evan counts it as a win and fights valiantly a grin from spreading too much, you know, in case it really is gross.  

 

There's a moment of silence, and then, "dude, what the fuck is wrong with your face?" 

 

"What? Nothing, why? What?" Evan feels dizzy from the sudden turn in the conversation, "What?" 

 

"You look like you're having a stroke," the ghost looks alarmed, "are you having trouble seeing? Any numbness?" 

 

"What? _No_ , I'm not having a stroke. _Oh,_ " right, "I'm just, you know, trying to fix-- I mean, you said my face was doing a weird thing-- is this better?" 

 

"Oh my god, promise me you're never doing that in public, you look like a serial killer," Connor sounds dismayed, burying his face in his hands, "I didn't mean, just-- forget what I said, okay? I'm an asshole and it was stupid. There's nothing wrong with your stupid face. Or smile." The ghost mumbles something else, but Evan can't quite hear, so the other boy clears his throat, then louder, "I said, _it's okay, I guess."_  

 

"Oh. Uh, thanks." Evan prays the half light hides his blush, "do you want to, hm, finish the movie?" 

 

Connor smiles relieved as the awkwardness fades, and Evan almost says _yours is okay too_ , but wisely bites his tongue, busying himself with the computer. 

 

They sit there, side by side, shoulders touching and legs stretched out, the french words lulling them into peaceful silence as the sun slowly paints the sky in shades of red. 

 

It feels surreal, it feels so different from how the day started, but Evan guesses the song is right, _anything at all can happen just before the sunrise_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKay, so leaving a comment is Always very nice or you can reach me at my tumblr[.](wearealltalesintheend.tumblr.com)
> 
> And hey? Thanks.


	8. and if our children tell our story ( they'll tell the story of tonight )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _""Honey, I love you, no matter what, I swear. It's okay if you and Jared are, you know, together." His mom sits beside him, occupying the place the ghost had just vacated, "we can have him over for dinner, uh? What do you think?"_
> 
> _"Mom, no!" Evan cannot stress it enough, "I don't-- I'm not dating Jared okay? We're just," he winces, "friends."_
> 
> _It sounds lame, he knows. It sounds like the world's lamest excuse, but come on. Connor, who had been recovering his breath, falls into another fit of laughter. Damn asshole."_
> 
>  
> 
> or, alternatively, Heidi isn't exactly wrong, but she isn't right either, the Connor Project takes off, Evan has an over sharing moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, I'm posting this early because I'm not sure how my access to internet will be in the newt couple of days.
> 
> So, this is very gay and domestic, but listen, I need fluff in my life, okay? Can you tell I'm getting impatient with these two? Also, I'm not entirely happy with Heidi's part of the dialogue, so I'm apologizing in advance, because Supportive Parentes? Don't know her.
> 
> Also, Evan is bisexual, you can try prying this headcanon out of my cold, dead hands.
> 
> Last, but not least, you may notice it now shows there's only one more chapter; I did it because we are nearing the end of Act 1, and then there is a time jump, which, in my opinion wouldn't fit very well in a fic, so this one will cover the entirety of Act 1, wrapping up loose ends at the end of You will Be Found, and then, maybe an epilogue. There will be a sequel covering Act 2 and definetely an epilogue. So, stay tuned.
> 
> Anyway.

"you know what I don't get?" Connor huffs, hands stuffed inside his hoodie's pocket, as he watches idly Evan getting ready to school, "why does it gotta have a giant photo of me in the flyers?" 

 

Evan rolls his eyes, they had this same argument last night when he had been writing and printing it, "we talked about this, it's called the Connor project, you have to be in it." 

 

"Yeah, but does it have to be _everywhere?_ " the ghost whines, frowning and pouting, and Evan turns away quickly, busying himself with washing his bowl in the sink, because honestly, he shouldn't find it as endearing as he does, "and did it have to be _that_ picture?" 

 

"What, why?" it's his turn to frown now, "what's wrong with the photo? It's a, uh," Evan stutters, clears his throat, "it's a nice picture." 

 

There's a second too long of silence, so he fidgets, turns the faucet off and sits the bowl to dry before looking over at the ghost.  

 

Connor is flickering again, and a pained look cross his face before he shrugs, "whatever, man."  

 

Evan thinks he should be asking something, but he is not sure what the question is, or if he missed the answer somewhere along the lines.   

 

"So, I'll talk with Jared and Alana, today, I guess. You'll be there, too, right?" 

 

"Nah, dude, you do your thing. I'll stay here and, I don't know, practice ghosting and stuff." Connor shuffles a little, produces a small rubik cube from his pocket, a grin spreading on his lips, "I think I'm getting better at this. Look." 

 

The ghost straightens on the chair, brows furrowing in concentration and begins changing the cube's rows around. He chews at his botton lip, and Evan smiles; it takes only a few minutes until one face of the toy shows only blue squares.  

 

"What, how did you do that?" he gapes, complains, "I could never solve it at all." 

 

"I have lots of free time." Connor shrugs, moving the cube around, "aren't you going to be late?" 

 

 _Shit._ "Oh, right, right." Evan scrambles and stumbles to gather his things and throw his bag over his shoulder, then pauses at the threshold to call back, "okay, please, don't break anything, and don't haunt the neighbors. Mr.Wickham is still trying to get Father Callahan to bless his house." 

 

"Hey, now, I had no idea what you're talking about, I'd never haunt your pissy neighbor. You're no fun, Hansen." The ghost laughs, "but I don't make any promises, I might get bored." He looks at the clock, "now chop chop, go convince 'em to build me a Taj Mahal." 

 

Evan rolls his eyes, "and no painting in the roof!" 

 

The last thing he hears as he locks the door is Connor laughing in the kitchen.  

 

It's not a bad way to start his day. 

 

. 

. 

. 

 

"The Connor Project?"  

 

Alana sounds surprised and Jared looks mildly interested, so Evan soldiers on, "I was thinking on a study group, to you know, help people like Connor? To show that everyone matters. And maybe a website, to, to keep his memory alive. What do you think?" 

 

"Oh my god, I am _so honored!"_ Alana says, eyes shining and Evan can practically see the cogs turning inside her mind, "I would love to be vice president of the Connor Project!" 

 

"Vice president-" 

 

"You're right, we should be _co-president."_  

 

"Oh, right, no, that works for me, sure." 

 

And Alana is already turning towards Jared, taking charge and discussing pins and buttons, and it boggles Evan because it's happening, this idea is taking off. They're doing this, for real.  

 

 _No one deserves to be forgotten, no one deserves to fade away_ , he reaffirms, surer this time, and they echo his words. 

 

. 

. 

. 

 

"We're calling it the Connor Project." 

 

The three of them stand before the Murphy family, and Alana explains excitedly the idea, while Evan hangs back with Jared, piping in once in a while.  

 

It's a little awkward, being back here. Especially with Zoe sitting a few feet away and pointedly not looking at them. Evan kind of regrets, mostly, not being able to tell her that, yes, her brother loved her very much and feels deeply sorry, he hadn't been lying. 

 

"And I was thinking," Alana sounds almost shy and a little unsure, "maybe, for the assembly, the jazz band could do something?" 

 

And holy shit, _is that a blush?_  

 

Evan steps on Jared's toes before the boy can say anything, glaring at him to shut up and hoping he'd keep his mouth shut. 

 

Because maybe, the rumors hadn't been too far off. Because Alana is fidgeting and adjusting her coat, and Zoe has color tinting the high of her cheeks and she is still not meeting anyone's eyes. And if they're keeping it down, the two of them deserve their privacy. Besides, from the few stories he had gotten out of Connor, Evan isn't sure how the Murphy's would react. 

 

He thinks he should be a little more heartbroken, a little more sad. But it feels strangely like relief, as if now he can properly and officially move on without _what ifs_ or _maybes_. And he's happy, too, as he watches the fondness and adoration shining in Alana's eyes. Everyone deserves to have someone look at them like that. 

 

. 

. 

. 

 

It's late when he gets home, past dinner time, and his mother's car is parked in the curb. Evan feels the pang of aprehention as he thinks of his mom alone with Connor. What if she noticed something was different? Or what if the ghost hadn't been careful enough and she figured it out? Oh god, what if she called a priest or something to exorcise him out of the house? Is that burning sage he's smelling?  

 

He needn't have worried, though. From the sidewalk he can see the faint outline of someone sitting on the front steps. Connor looks more solid now, almost real, under the pale streetlight and once again playing with his rubik cube. 

 

Evan wonders, had they met _before_ , could this have been a common sight? He laughs quietly, a breathless little sound, but the wind carries it and Connor raises his head in surprise and his hands still, there's a relieved smile blooming on his lips and tension leaving his shoulders. 

 

"Hey," Evan shuffles closer, sitting beside the ghost, "why are you here?" 

 

Connor shrugs, "your mom came home." He shoves the cube back inside his pocket, "she couldn't see me, and it felt weird to be around. I'm not a fucking creeper, you know." 

 

He nods, and they sit in silence for a while, watching the stray fireflies buzz past them and cars speeding by. But then the front door is opening, and Heidi pokes her head outside, "honey? Who are you talking to?" 

 

Evan freezes, "oh, me? No one, why, who were _you_ talking to?" 

 

From the corner of his eyes, he can see Connor shaking his head and rolling his eyes, "just say you were on your fucking phone, dumbass." 

 

His mom walks out, "Oh, I thought I heard your voice out here?"  

 

"Right, no, I mean, I was just, on my phone. With Jared." 

 

"Weren't you at Jared's now?" Heidi is frowning, and Evan can _see_ her jumping to conclusions. 

 

"Yeah, I just came back, but," he rushes out, "I forgot my, uh, my book there. My history book. So, I was just checking, making sure he doesn't forget to bring it tomorrow." 

 

"You and Jared have been spending a lot of time together, uh?" She zips her jacket, smiles her _let's talk about this_ smile, "you know you can tell me anything, right?" 

 

Evan gapes. He knows where this is going and _what the hell._ He feels an hysterical laughter bubbling in his chest, the idea of him and Jared together so ridiculous in his mind, he can't help feeling once more as if he is on some very bizarre alternate reality. 

 

 _( all right, try his middle school self and his dumb crush, but come on. That had been before Zoe, before-_  

 

 _Before, okay? Anyway. )_  

 

Beside him, Connor is falling off the steps in laughter, howling and rolling in the grass breathless, and honestly, Evan wants to glare, scowl, hopes he _chokes on air,_ the goddamn _asshole_. 

 

"Honey, I love you, no matter what, I swear. It's okay if you and Jared are, you know, together." His mom sits beside him, occupying the place the ghost had just vacated, "we can have him over for dinner, uh? What do you think?" 

 

"Mom, _no!"_ Evan cannot stress it enough, "I don't-- I'm not dating Jared okay? We're just," he winces, "friends." 

 

It sounds lame, he knows. It sounds like the world's lamest excuse, but _come on_. Connor, who had been recovering his breath, falls into another fit of laughter. Damn _asshole._  

 

"Evan, honey, I love you, I hope you know that. But it's fine, you tell me when you're good and ready. But I'm glad you have a _friend."_ Heidi gives him an awkward one armed hug, stands up, smiles, "don't stay up too late, good night, kiddo." 

 

Evan waits for the tail lights of her car to disappear around the block, before turning to glare at Connor, "you're such a _jerk."_  

 

The ghost giggles, stays laying down on the grass, "that was priceless, you should've seen your face," the cube phases through his hoodie, "you looked like a fucking fish, dude." 

 

"She took me by surprise!" Evan whines, "oh god, she thinks-- Jared and I-- _what the fuck."_  

 

"Yeah, you could've picked a better date, man." Connor sees his glare, laughs, "what? It's cool, it's cool. I'm just sayin', not the best choice for prom." 

 

"You're such an _asshole,"_ Evan kicks his foot, "well, who would _you_ ask for prom, then?" 

 

He curses himself silently, regretting his words as soon as they left his mouth, but the ghost doesn't seem to mind, looking thoughtful for a second before smirking, "no one. I wouldn't go, you know, make a statement out of it and all." Then, he grows serious, "you should ask Zoe. She'd dig the whole thing." 

 

Evan kind of wants to laugh a little  again, "no, I think Alana's got it covered." 

 

Connor sits up, eyes wide, "what the fuck, is it something in the water or what?" He laughs, incredulous, " _damn_ , two kids and none of them are straight," a shake of the head, "man, I can't believe this." 

 

Evan stretchs his legs, shivers, it's getting cold outside. "I don't think they told anyone yet, but I don't know, they look very happy." He bits his lower lip, nervous all of a sudden, "wait, does the mean, you...?" 

 

Connor rolls his eyes, lays back down, "yes, Evan, I'm gay as fuck, I like dicks." 

 

"Oh." There's a pause, "me too." 

 

The ghost chokes, sits up again, coughing, "what the hell? Weren't you swooning over my sister until yesterday?" 

 

"Uh, I'm bi, I like boys. And girls." Evan fidgets, uncomfortable, "but I didn't swoon. I'm just naturally awkward and that one time my hands got really sweaty because I started worrying if they were sweaty-- they hadn't been, but I started worrying-- so they got sweaty. I'm over her, is what I'm trying to say. For a while, now, actually." 

 

"Oh. _Oh,_ cool," Connor looks uncomfortable, too, restless, "all right, now that we've established no one here is straight, we can talk about literally anything else." 

 

"Oh my god, yes, please." Evan says, relieved, "you know, everyone thinks it's an amazing idea, the Connor Project. We're doing an assembly, next week. Your mom, she, uh, gave me one of your ties." 

 

"Right, because this isn't weird at all," the ghost rolls his eyes, "but whatever you people need to get this shit done. I bet a whole lot of people will come, saying they knew crap about me. Fucking phonies." 

 

"We, hm, we can watch and make fun of them," he suggests, "count how many things they make up or get wrong and you can spook them." 

 

"What, is that pranking you're talking about, Hansen?" Connor smirks, raising his eyebrows, "you're on, tree boy." 

 

Evan laughs, the air lighter again, like half of the white elephants they had been ignoring had gone away.  

 

But it's autumn, the nights are getting colder, and the breeze blowing through the street makes him shiver and zip his own hoodie higher; the action causing Connor to stand up, dust himself off, and offer him a hand, "come on, it's gonna be very anti-climatic if you miss the assembly because you got fucking pneumonia." 

 

Evan looks at the offered hand, up at Connor, back down again. It feels a little important, it feels like a question, it feels like two roads diverging in a wood somewhere.  

 

He reaches up, takes the hand and Connor pulls him up, cold and almost, _almost,_ there, and they go inside. He chooses his road less traveled by.  

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, as always, kudos and comments are very nice, and also no one called out the In the Heights reference last chapter and I am disappointed in you.
> 
> Another thing, I now have a [Sideblog](musically-attracted.tumblr.com) for all things Broadway.


	9. our love is God ( we're the asteroid that's overdue )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _""Oh, am I distracting you, Hansen?" Connor says, voice low and teasing, but still making Evan blush and fidget uncomfortably, "you think I'm too distracting now, do you?"_
> 
> _"No, it's not-- it's not like that," he whines and tries to hide the color of his cheeks, "it's just, I can't write with you poking fun of me, I'm just-- I'm just nervous, sorry."_
> 
> _The smirk drops, and the ghost grows serious, "oh, no, don't fucking apologize, I was the one being a jerk," he stands up, streatches like a cat waking up from a too long sleep, "I promise I'll help now," he salutes, "scout's honor."_
> 
> _"Connor," Evan pinches the bridge of his nose, "you've never been a boy scout." "_
> 
>  
> 
> or, the assembly; before and after, and everything it entails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoo!
> 
> This is the last chapter, I can't belive it! This is the first multi chapter I got to finish!
> 
> But there is going to be an epilogue and then the sequel in the following weeks!
> 
> Now, y'all pray for me I have an important physics exam monday that's gonna kick my ass rip

_"Dear assembly,-"_  

 

"Dude, this isn't one of your weird ass letters," Connor snorts, "no one talks like that." 

 

Evan sighs, cross the words, starts again, " _ladies and gentlemen-"_  

 

"Now it sounds like you're introducing a fucking circus, or, better yet," the ghost smirks, "a freak show." 

 

"You're not exactly helping, you know?" Evan rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, willing them to stay open and fight off sleep a little longer, the assembly is already tomorrow and he hadn't written a word of his speech. 

 

And Connor, lounging in his bed and playing with the rubik cube, had been very unhelpful, as far as distractions go. Everytime Evan started concentrating, the ghost would comment on something or change positions and the movement would catch Evan's attention or he would complete one of the faces of the cube and his lips would curl up in an almost smile, and completely derail his train of thoughts. "You're distracting me." 

 

"Oh, am I _distracting_ you, Hansen?" Connor says, voice low and teasing, but still making Evan blush and fidget uncomfortably, "you think I'm too _distracting_ now, do you?" 

 

"No, it's not-- it's not like that," he whines and tries to hide the color of his cheeks, "it's just, I can't write with you poking fun of me, I'm just-- I'm just nervous, sorry." 

 

The smirk drops, and the ghost grows serious, "oh, no, don't fucking apologize, I was the one being a jerk," he stands up, streatches like a cat waking up from a too long sleep, "I promise I'll help now," he salutes, "scout's honor." 

 

"Connor," Evan pinches the bridge of his nose, "you've never been a boy scout." 

 

"Well, no, but I went camping once," he walks around him to try and read the half written draft, "and I really like cookies, I had like, twenty boxes hidden in my room." 

 

"That's girl scout's," he hands the paper over, "and they sell them, not obsessively hoard them." 

 

"Whatever, fuck you and your gender roles," Connor flips him the finger half heartedly, "hey, you could always start with good morning." 

 

Evan rolls his eyes, but what can he do, it _is_ a good idea, and the only one he's had so far. 

 

. 

. 

. 

 

Evan thinks-- no, he _knows_ \-- he's going to either throw up or pass out, or maybe both. Inside his ribcage, his heart is hammering, and pressure is building on his chest, squeezing his lungs until it feels like he's breathing underwater.  

 

"Hey, hey, don't pass out on me now," Connor is suddenly in front of him blocking his view of the audience, concerned eyes and smirking lips, "you still have to blow them all away." 

 

There's loud cheering and a round of applauses, Alana is saying his name and motioning him over, a smile on her lips that's all white teeth and unwavering confidence. Evan clutches his cards, takes a deep breath, starts walking on faltering legs, but then there's a cold hand on his shoulder, and Connor is speaking, "you can do it, I know you can, I believe in you. Good luck." 

 

Evan nods, unable to say anything, and takes his place in front of the mic. He starts speaking, but his voice cracks,  too loud and too mechanical, and he stumbles, stutters, and now people are _laughing,_ his cards spill helplessly in the floor. 

 

And then, he kneels down to pick them up, and he sees Connor there, in the wings, and his words echo quietly in his mind _you can do it_ and _I believe in you_ and Evan realizes he's doing this all wrong. It's not these people sitting in the school theater who didn't even know Connor that he should be telling this.  

 

He stands up, not confidently, but the room isn't spinning anymore, and he looks at Connor.  

 

And he starts talking. 

 

 

. 

. 

. 

 

Evan locks the bathroom door with shaking hands, and splashes cold water on his face; not enough oxygen in his lungs and pressure building in his chest. Did he really do that, did he really speak in front of all those people? He dries his face in the paper towels, trying to get his heart to slow down. 

 

"Did you mean it?"  

 

Evan jumps, startled by the sudden voice, and looks up to meet Connor's eyes in the mirror. The ghost is standing in the middle of the bathroom, and the yellowed light makes him seem normal, solid, _alive,_ even with the wild look on his face and the trembling of his hands.  

 

"I said, did you fucking mean it?" He repeats, voice hoarse and cracking, "don't fuck with me, because _I swear to god-"_  

 

"I did," Evan blurts out, taking a wobbly step forward, "I do." 

 

A pained look flits through his eyes, being followed by disbelief and then bright, warm, desperate _hope_ , and Connor twitches, an aborted motion as if he's at war with himself; he looks helpless and desperate and tired, and there's infinite sadness written in the lines of his face. 

 

There's a burning feeling writhing and curling inside Evan's ribcage, squeezing his heart and boiling his blood, and he watches frozen in place as whatever had been waging war in Connor's mind come to an end and the ghost crosses the distance between them, until they're sharing the same air, noses brushing. 

 

And Evan feels his heart trying to beat out of his chest, because _oh god, is he going to-_  

 

Connor kisses him, hands cupping his face and pulling him closer. It's a strange feeling; he feels cold against Evan's warm skin, but he also feels _solid,_ he's definetely _there;_ and Evan's brain is short-cutting, thoughts melting into an incoherent white noise, quieter than it's ever been. 

 

"Fuck," Connor detaches himself from him abruptly, taking several steps back, looking shell shocked and panicked, "fuck, _fuck--_ I'm sorry-- fuck, Evan-" 

 

But Connor's lips are slightly red and his pupils are blown wide, and Evan thinks he must still be reeling from the speech, and he's still not thinking straight, because he feels he's going to _die_ if he doesn't do that again, _god_ , he's going to _burst_ , he needs- 

 

This time it's Evan who crosses the distance and grabs Connor by his hoodie, pulling him down into another kiss. The boy lets out a strangled sound; half-moan, half-sob, before pushing him against the wall, fingers digging into Evan's hips. 

 

While Connor may not need air, he does; so they eventually part, panting and breathing into each other, and he had never felt so alive, he is tingling where the ghost is touching him, a cool sensation agaisnt the  heat boiling underneath his skin. 

 

It should feel more weird, Evan figures, it shouldn't feel so real. But Connor is now nuzzling his neck, cold and soft and _there_ , and it makes him shiver and pull the boy closer. The ghost had never felt so solid as now, and it's almost easy to forget, if he just keep kissing him, if they can just stay there, if- 

 

"Evan, are you there?" Someone bangs on the door, and they spring apart hastily, "is everything alright? It's me, it's Zoe, I wanted to talk to you?" 

 

"One second-- just," he calls out, wincing as his voice cracks, "one second!" 

 

He turns to look at Connor, standing disheveled and wide eyed, and he tries to squash down the urge to kiss him again, "uh," _great,_ very eloquent, "we should-- I mean, that was-" 

 

"Zoe is-- you shouldn't keep her waiting," the ghost runs a shaky hand through his hair, huffs out a nervous laugh, "I should-- I'll just-- later. Yeah, we'll talk later." 

 

"Okay, no, sure, yeah, that works for me," Evan wipes his hands on his jeans, because _oh god_ , they were really sweaty-- how long had they been sweaty?-- and hesitates, should he kiss him? is that a thing now? does he want it to be a thing? "See you, tonight?" 

 

"Yeah," Connor smiles, looking shy and soft and nervous, "tonight." He flickers out, his image fluttering and shimmering before fading away, and then Evan is alone again. 

 

Zoe knocks again, "Evan, are you okay?" 

 

He turns to face the mirror, fixing his hair as best as he can, but there's nothing he can do about the flush of his cheeks or his mildly swollen lips. He straightens his tie, opens the door, "hey, Zoe, what do you-- I mean, I'm sorry, you were saying?" 

 

"Are you okay? You look a little flustered-" 

 

"No, no, _no_ , I'm fine, thank you, great. So, you wanted to talk?" 

 

"Right, yes," she pushes her hair out of her face, "can you, I mean, can we not do this is the men's bathroom? It's a little weird." 

 

"Oh, _oh_ , yes, definetely, sorry." He shuffles out of the room, wincing as the door slams shut behind him, and Zoe leads him into an empty classroom. 

 

Evan looks around uncomfortable, feeling dizzy and a little out of it, still trying to process the last ten minutes. He must have fallen down some rabbit hole without realizing, that is no other explanation. But Zoe doesn't seem unaffected either, her eyes are red and her cheeks are slightly puffy, she looks like she's been crying and there's agitation in the twitch of her fingers. 

 

"Evan," she starts, twirling a strand of her hair, "what you just did- your speech, it was beautiful- my parents, they needed it, what you _are_ doing, the Connor Project, you don't know how important that is to my family, to _me_ ," she looks up, meeting his eyes, "thank you, Evan." 

 

Zoe sounds choked up, words fighting their way past her lips, and Evan thinks he should hug her, but he is not sure, that would possibly be very awkward, and people crying make him extra nervous, so instead he steps forward and pats her shoulder in what he hopes is a reassuring manner, "it's uh, it's okay. Thanks, I just-- I want to help, that's all." 

 

"You did." She throws her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder, and Evan stills. "Thank you for giving me my brother back." 

 

Had this happened sometime last year, or even last month, Evan would probably have died of happiness, a dream coming true. Maybe in another life he could have been happy with this, with Zoe, but now, it's just awkward in the way everything he does is awkward in some degree. And she is crying, Evan doesn't know how to deal with tears, okay, he really doesn't, so he clumsily circles his arms around her shoulders, patting her back. 

 

She sniffles, steps back, dries the tear tracks with the sleeves of her sweater, "can I ask you something?" 

 

"Oh, sure," Evan fiddles with the hem of his blue polo, a chorus of _oh god, no_ echoing in his head, "shoot." 

 

"Were you and my brother together?" Zoe sounds nervous, shy, there's something guarded in her eyes and he wonders if she's thinking about her own relationship, "were you guys dating?" 

 

"No, no," he answers truthfully, trying not to think about the Bathroom Incident. It's not a very good name, he knows, but it's a work in progress, okay, even though in his mind it sounds capitalized. 

 

"But you liked him? I mean, from your speech..." 

 

That gives him pause.  

 

Evan thinks of the first time Connor appeared to him, angry and frustrated and wrecking havok in his house.  

 

He thinks of how the first weeks had been a game of taking a step forward, and then two steps back.  

 

He thinks of finding him crying in the middle of the night, and the deer in the headlights look on his face.  

 

He thinks of the month spent buried in books and internet articles and shady bookstores and trying to move a glass.  

 

He thinks of talking quietly until he falls asleep and being dragged out of bed.  

 

He thinks of the empty, aching feeling on his chest on the days Connor had avoided him. 

 

He thinks of promising _I'll prove it to you_ and meaning it. 

 

He thinks of kissing in the school's bathroom and the way his skin tingled and burned cold. 

 

Answering that question is as easy and as natural as breathing. 

 

"I did," Evan shakes his head, wondering how could he not have seen it sooner, "I do, I really do." 

 

She looks sad, "I'm sorry I can't tell you if he felt the same," she smiles, pity coloring her lips, "but if Connor took you to the Orchard, then he must have cared a lot about you." 

 

The irony is not lost on Evan, but he forces himself not to laugh hysterically, "thanks, uh, and Zoe, about the, hm-- you know, that day when I-- sorry, just, I don't-- I mean, I like you-- I do! You are amazing and beautiful and nice-- but I don't, uh, _like_ like you." _Not anymore, not after-. Not for some time._  

 

"Oh, no, I understand now, it's fine," she assures him, "it's fine, I'm glad. So, we can be friends now. Right?" 

 

"Yes, definetely, that would be amazing. Can I," he hesitates for a second, scratches the back of his neck, "can I ask something too?" 

 

She nods, so he goes on, "are you and Alana together?" 

 

Zoe blushes, turning a deep red, "no, not yet, but I, I really like her you know?" There's something soft and adoring and sweet in her voice, "I think she feels the same, but I haven't told her yet." 

 

"You should tell her," Evan doesn't stutter or stumble over his words, "don't wait too long, you should tell her." 

 

Somewhere on the street a car speeds by, tires screeching against the dark pavement, and Zoe Murphy is looking at him with the saddest eyes, but she nods and whispers _I will._  

 

After she hugs him a last time, thanking him again, Evan lingers in the empty classrom, watching her go, scanning the crowd until she finds Alana Beck and pull her from the commotion. He watches it unfold and smiles.  

 

_All is well when it ends well,_ he thinks. 

 

He can't go home yet, not until the assembly is done and everything is wrapped up; he promised he would stay until the end. Evan touches his lips, lets out a breathless, quiet laugh; he guesses his own happy ending would have to wait a few hours. 

 

. 

. 

. 

 

Everything is dark when Evan comes home, all lights are off and an eerie silence is filling every room. It's a little unsettling, and he feels worry and fear squeezing his heart.  

 

What if Connor was gone, what if he realized he has better things to do then hang around Evan, what if he realized how boring and ugly and worthless Evan is and went away? Maybe it was all a joke, or temporary madness, why did Evan think Connor would like him? How stupid, _stupid,_ of him, what an idiot, what a _freak_ , no one could like a mess like him, no one- 

 

"Evan? Is that you?" Connor calls out, voice distant, and it breaks his train of thoughts out of Self-Loathing station, "I'm outside!" 

 

Indeed, when Evan steps out of the back door, he finds Connor laying in the grass, gazing at the stars. There's something melancholic in his face, longing and regret mixed with hope and stardust, but when he sees him standing by the door, his lips curl up in a smile, lighting up his eyes, blue with a patch of brown, and it's brighter than any star in any galaxy. 

 

_We're stars with people's names,_ the quote flits through his mind, and he finds it quite fitting. 

 

"Hey," Evan lays down beside him, hands brushing, "sorry it took so long, Jared promised to drive me home but he kept getting sidetracked." 

 

"It's fine," Connor looks down at their hands, loops their pinkies together, and Evan marvels at how solid he feels, not entirely, but almost, but _enough_ , "we should talk." 

 

"We should." Evan agrees, quiet and soft, "but can we not? Not today?" 

 

The ghost looks at him, wide eyes searching and fearful, "not today?" 

 

A leaf floats down, carried by the breeze, and Evan sighs, "can we just be seventeen? Can it be just you and me? Leave the world outside, we can worry later." 

 

"If I still got the right," Connor whispers, intertwines their fingers, concentration showing in his eyes, "if you still want; then tonight, just you and me." 

 

"Just for tonight," he echoes, squeezing his hand, "let's stay here a little longer." 

 

Silence falls between them, peaceful and comfortable and light, and Evan is almost falling asleep when Connor speaks again, "hey, Evan, the stars sure do look beautiful tonight. But you know what's even more beautiful?" 

 

Evan blushes, smiling, "what?" 

 

"Nothing, really, I just like the stars a lot-" 

 

"Oh my god, you're such an asshole!" Evan laughs, and Connor is grinning in a goofy way he's never seen before, but it melts his heart and a multitude of butterflies flutter their wings. 

 

"Evan," the ghost looks up, averting his eyes, "remember when you asked me who I'd ask to prom?" 

 

"Yeah?" 

 

"I lied. I mean, I still think it's a stupid thing, but," he concedes, "you, I'd ask you." 

 

Evan suddenly feels like crying; there's hopelessness biting at his heart and sadness flowing in his bloodstream.  

 

_Why didn't we meet sooner?_   

 

It follows the beat of his heart, _why why why-_  

 

"Connor," he says, and it tastes like tragedy, "I would say yes, I would've said yes." 

 

They lapse back into silence, and Evan closes his eyes, listening to the leaves rustling and ocasional cars driving by. Tonight, just for tonight, he's not going to think about it, they're going to be the two teenagers they could have been, that they should have been- 

 

"This is a bad idea, isn't it?" Connor half asks, half states, "very, impossibly, bad." 

 

"Yeah, very." Evan agrees, softly, helpless, "but I don't know what to do." 

 

"Me neither," he turns to meet his eyes, and there's storm in his eyes, lightning in his eyelashes, "but I'm too fucking selfish, and I don't want to let this go." 

 

"Then don't," Evan says, tired and wary and resigned, because this follows the patterns; the sky is blue, water boils around 100 degrees Celsius at sea level, and life loves to screw him over. "we'll figure something out." 

 

"How are you fucking real?" Connor says in awe, and when he speaks Evan's name again, he makes it sound like a prayer, like something holy, "seriously, why aren't you freaking out?" 

 

"I don't know, a month and a half ago this ghost began haunting me, and he's an asshole but, but I kind of like him now-- he's really cool, and you wouldn't think but he's secretely a nerd who walks around with a rubik cube in his pocket, and when he's confused, he scrunches up his nose and it's adorable, although he'd probably scowl and glare if I told him that, an-and his eyes, he has heterochromia and it's so gorgeous, and sometimes the lights hits his hair and it looks almost red-ish and then he smiles, like, really smiles and I think that's what poetry is written about," Evan blushes, but doesn't stutter nor stumble; there's something calming about the night sky and it relaxes his nerves, "so everything after, it can't top that." 

 

There's a moment when Evan thinks Connor might cry, but the clouds in his eyes blow over and the ocean quiets down, "do you really think that? " Evan nods, and the ghost looks lost, "I'm trying to believe you, but it's-- it's fucking hard." 

 

"It's okay, you don't have to-- not right now," he shuffles closer, "but you're the one I choose. Tonight, we can just be seventeen, remember?" 

 

The ghost doesn't answer, but he lets his eyes drift shut, so Evan considers it a small victory. He's not sure what's he going to do, how they are going to find a way out of this mess. It's such a bad idea, but isn't his life a series of unfortunate events? 

 

It's the end of Autumn, and Winter is just around the corner; the leaves are all falling down, and soon snow will blanket the ground and ice will cover the trees. But for now, the grass is soft and Connor is a cool, steady presence beside him, and Evan thinks this is what happiness feels like. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, as always comments and kudos are lovely and really motivated to write.
> 
> and hey? Thanks.


	10. I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory ( I see it coming, do I run or do I let it be? )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _""I hate you," says Connor, "and everything you stand for."_
> 
> _"Connor, please, she can hear you," says Evan, from a few feet away, "you'll hurt her feelings."_
> 
> _"Evan, that's a fucking plant, it can hear jackshit of what I'm saying." The ghost whines, scowls, glares at the small cactus sprouting from the ground, "and if it does, then it's fucking evil and it deserves to know the depths of my hatred." "_
> 
>  
> 
> or, of gardening and afterlife. Alternatively, an epilogue, and remembering memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this is the epilogue!
> 
> Posting this early, because I'm already working in the sequel and to be honest this has been sitting in my computer for a while now. Also, I apologize for the major deus ex machina I'm pulling here.
> 
> Hope it wraps this up nicely!
> 
> Stay tuned for the sequel, I'll be back here to include a link when it's up!

"I hate you," says Connor, "and everything you stand for." 

 

"Connor, please, she can hear you," says Evan, from a few feet away, "you'll hurt her feelings." 

 

"Evan, that's a fucking plant, it can hear jackshit of what I'm saying." The ghost whines, scowls, glares at the small cactus sprouting from the ground, "and if it does, then it's fucking evil and it deserves to know the depths of my hatred." 

 

"You're such a drama queen," Evan laughs, comes to stand beside him, brushing off dirt from his pants, "she's done nothing wrong. You're being unreasonable. " 

 

"Your face is unreasonable," he mumbles, kicking the loosened rocks, "it just-- look at it, it's ugly and weird and it doesn't work with the rose bushes and it hurt you, _ergo_ it deserves my wrath." 

 

"It was an accident. It wasn't her fault, I wasn't paying attention," Evan crouches down, begins to cut the yellowed leaves, leaving the small cactus alone, "and come spring, when the weather warms again, a flower it's going to blossom and she's gonna be even more beautiful than the roses." 

 

Connor sighs, sits on the grass and watches the boy fussing over the plants. It's a beautiful garden, he has to give him that, all lined with small river rocks and standing in the corner of the backyard, full of roses and tulips and orchids and lilies. And the odd, ugly, cactus in the rose bush.  

 

They had been out in the garden since after lunch, when Mrs.Hansen had left for her work. Evan had pulled out a pair of hideous yellow rubber gloves from the kitchen cabinet, and faced the afternoon sun to tend to his small plants. He had worked mostly in silence, sometimes introducing the flowers by name and going in tangents about their species, while Connor alternated between hovering around and napping in the shade. 

 

It had been all quite idilic, peaceful and domestic, until Evan had bent down to cut off the dying leaves and ended up falling on his ass with a yelp. There had been blood, red and thick, slowly dripping from his thumb where the cactus' thorn had cut it. Connor had been up and fussing and panicking in a second, but Evan had waved him off with a small smile that looked more like a grimace, because _it's nothing, it's just a cut, calm down._  

 

Inside the house the doorbell rings, startling him out of his thoughts, and Evan frowns, brushes the dirt and leaves from his clothes and takes off his stupid gloves before going in to answer the door.  

 

Connor stands up too, stretches, and picks up the gardening scissors laying forgotten in the floor. He makes his way around the house, not going in; by the raised, grating and annoying, voice coming from the inside it must have been Jared at the door.  

 

Great.  

 

He stops at the gate before going outside; he needs to be careful, if people, especially Mr.Wickham, saw a big ass floating scissor, the old man would most definetely call a priest. He has to be careful and lay low for a while, so Connor stops and looks around, searching for potential witness. 

 

The street is empty, everything still in the true spirit of a lazy Sunday, not even a car driving by. At least that's what he thinks at first glance, but suddenly he becomes aware of a young woman across the street. She's alone, standing in the sidewalk, arms crossed, and facing Evan's house in a way that makes it look like as if she's staring right at Connor, and he shudders. 

 

_What the fuck?_  

 

Had she been there the whole time? _What the fuck_. It's creepy and weird and it's freaking him out, and then somewhere on his left the trash can falls down with a loud crash, and Connor jumps, laughing a little hysterically as a brown cat meows offended and jumps from the can.  

 

He shakes his head, and turns his gaze back to the woman across the street. He feels his stomach sinking and ice filling his chest; she isn't there anymore, the sidewalk is empty. _Nope, nope, nope_ , there's an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach, so he wheels around, ready to duck back to the backyard. 

 

Except. 

 

Except, when he turns around, Connor comes face-to-face with the woman.  

 

" _Jesus Christ, what the fuck?"_ Connor screams, and scrambles away, tripping and stumbling until his back is digging into the iron gate, "how did you-- who the fuck-- get the fuck away from me." 

 

The woman sighs, "Connor, I'm not here to hurt you," she smiles placatingly, "I'm here to help you." 

 

"Listen, lady," he holds the scissor in front of him like a sword, "I don't know how you know my name or how you can see me, and I don't give a flying fuck, but you need to back the hell away." 

 

She doesn't listen to him, instead, she walks closer, "let me help you remember."  

 

She touches his forehead, and everything goes dark. 

 

. 

. 

. 

 

**_< < Rewind _** 

 

. 

. 

. 

 

Connor is floating.  

 

There's only darkness and cold; the kind of darkness and the kind of cold that means absence of light and absence of heat. 

 

That's where he is floating. 

 

Is this what outer space feels like? This choking in nothing, this overwhelming emptiness everywhere, this falling and floating and nothing? 

 

Suddenly, there is light. 

 

His eyes adjust slowly, the brightness fading back into reality, the ground solid beneath his feet. Connor blinks, looks at his hands; they are dull and translucent, _what happened?_  

 

"Hey, kid, you with us?" 

 

The gruff voice belongs to a man, standing a few feet away, beside a woman. He must have been in his early thirties, green eyes, sand blond hair, a smirk pulling at his lips, _very hot_. The girl, she couldn't have been older than the guy, but her light brown eyes have something that says _ancient_ and _as old as time_ and Connor figures she's pretty with her black hair and lean figure.  

 

It takes him a while to realize they are standing over his own body, laying unconscious in his bathroom floor. 

 

"What the fuck?" He says, hysteria and slowly settling in, "what the hell happened? Why am I-- what the fuck-- who are you-- how-- what the fuck?" 

 

"Connor, you need to calm down," the woman says, pity pooling in her too old eyes, "I'm so sorry." 

 

"Yeah, kid, take a few deep breaths, 'kay?" the guy looks uncomfortable, fiddling with his ring, "that's right, that's good, relax, kid." 

 

"What the fuck happened," Connor can't stop looking at his body, the pool of vomit, the blood, "why-- am I dead?" 

 

"Yes, sweetie," the woman is now beside him, looking down with him, "I'm sorry, but yes." 

 

"But how-- I don't remember-- the pills?" He feels his throat closing up, he is choking on air again. 

 

"Yeah, took too much this time, pal." The man shows him the empty vial, "suicide or accident?" 

 

"I-- "  

 

He remembers, now. The frustration, the anger, the pain, the certainty no one would care. He remembers. 

 

"Suicide," he cries, heart heavy and fear clouding his mind, "oh god, why did I-- who _are_ you people? What happens now?" 

 

"We're Grim Reapers," the woman says gently, "but you can call me Tessa if it makes you more comfortable." 

 

"I'm Dean, and I ain't a Reaper," the man glares at his friend, "I'm just-- let's say I'm just filling out for a friend. I'm very much human." 

 

"As for what happens now," the girl, Tessa, talks over the guy, "you come with us. We're here to help you, to lead you into your afterlife." 

 

"Where?" Connor colapses against the door and almost phases through, a sob wrecking his body at the reminder of his condition, "where are you taking me?" 

 

"Sorry, no spoilers, kid." 

 

"I'm sorry but we can't tell you that, it's not up to us." 

 

He hides his head in his hands, feeling his tears staining his jeans. _Oh god,_ what had he done? He thought he wanted it but-- _this isn't it_. This isn't what he wanted, he just wanted it all to end, he hadn't expected an afterlife to deal with. He doesn't want to go to hell, he wants peace, _oblivion_ , not more pain and eternal damnation. 

 

_Shit shit shit shit shit-_  

 

"You don't have to listen to her, you know." 

 

" _Dean-"_  

 

"No, Tessa, look at him, the kid is having a freaking panic attack-" 

 

"Yeah? Do you want to have to come back in a few years to salt and burn his bones?" 

 

"I won't have to if he doesn't go all american poltergheist!" 

 

"Maybe not in five, ten, fifteen months. But they always go mad, Dean. It's not natural for a soul to be in this plane, it deteriorates." 

 

"You can't be sure-" 

 

"Can't I have a second chance?" Connor cuts in, desperate and wild and clinging to any hope, "please, I'll be better-- I promise, I-- please, I didn't know, _please."_  

 

"Connor, I can't do that," Tessa crouches down in front of him, "you died, now you need to come with me." 

 

"No, _no, no_ \-- you can't make me," he sobs, "he said I could stay." 

 

She stands up, gives the man a _see what you did?_ glare, but he only shrugs, "you're right, I can't make you do anything. But if you choose to stay, you'll be a ghost. No one will see or hear you. You'll just be watching everyone around you. And then, as time passes, you'll lose yourself, you'll go mad. Is that what you want?" 

 

No, it's not. But is it so different from before? Is it any worse than what hell must have in store for him? 

 

_What have I done?_  

 

"I don't know," he pulls at his hair, trying to find comfort in the pain, " _I don't know_." 

 

"You can learn how to move shit and make yourself seen," Dean adds, "with practice." 

 

"Dean-" 

 

"What? Lay off, Tessa, I'm not breaking any rules here, I reaped his soul, but if he wants to stick around, it's not up to me. Or you." He turns to Connor, eyes serious and tired, "listen, kid, I've been there, okay. I know what's like to arrive here and find out you don't wanna kick the bucket just yet. And I also know what's like to be dragged back to life when all you want is it to be over. So, my advice? You want something, you fight for it, okay? You don't give up, you don't let other people decide for you." 

 

"And how the fuck am I supposed to fix this?"  

 

"You can't. But there's a spell-" 

 

"Connor, this is not a good idea," Tessa sounds resigned, like she knows it's futile to say anything else, "it's pointless, and you don't know what's waiting for you beyond. It could be paradise, it might be  _Heaven."_  

 

_Or it could be hell._  

 

_I know it's Hell._  

 

"It's an old sumerian spell, got it from an angel of the lord himself, it's supposed to work as long as you don't have half of heaven and half of hell after your ass." says Dean, ignoring the Reaper, and Connor feels hope igniting in his heart, "it will keep you whole and sane for a little longer, with some luck you even get to be solid and people get to see you. It's not a solution, it won't hold forever, but it'll help until you're good and ready to go to the light and shit." 

 

Connor ponders his options, he is doomed either way. If he had known- 

 

It doesn't matter anymore, what matters is now.  

 

He needs to choose. 

 

He's not ready to find out what happens next, he can't play dice yet. He'd rather wait to toss the coin.  

 

_( it's a rigged game, he knows )_  

 

_( he read a book on coin tricks once, it's all about misdirection and trick of your fingers_

_and then it always comes up heads )_

 

_( how do you win that? )_

 

He is scared, he is hurting, he is sorry.  

 

He is dead. 

 

"Do it, do the spell." 

 

. 

. 

. 

 

**> > Forward.** 

 

**_Play_** **.**  

 

. 

. 

. 

 

Connor comes up gasping for air, the rush of memories sends his head spinning, a headache exploding behind his eyes before his vision clears up. "Holy shit, you-- Tessa?" 

 

"Hello, Connor Murphy." 

 

"What-- why are you here?" He pants, "is something wrong-- the spell, that's why I can touch-- where's Dean? Why are you here? I don't want to-- I can't go, not now, not after--" 

 

"I am here to offer you another chance to come with me, while you're still you," Tessa helps him sit down, "Connor, you're burning through the spell too fast, it'll wear off soon." 

 

"Can't you cast it again?" He blinks back the fear and the desperation, "I can't go now, I just found him, Tessa, I can't leave him. Please, don't ask me to leave him." 

 

"You know I can't, I'm binded by Death's rules. I can't cheat my boss." She looks back at the house, "but you have to know this thing between you and Evan Hansen is a terrible idea." 

 

"I fucking know, okay, you don't have to tell me. I fucking know, but I've never felt so alive in all my life, he is beautiful and smart and soft and brave and perfect, and for some reason he _likes_ me, how can I say no to that?" 

 

"If you love him, you have to let him go." Tessa looks sad, and Connor wonders how old she must be, "you're still dead." 

 

He looks down at his hands, they look solid and real, and he knows she is telling the truth, the spell won't hold forever; he'll have to come down from this high at some point and the fall it's going to crush him. 

 

"How long do I have? What happens after it wears off? Do I just... disappear?" 

 

"I don't know, but not long. Once it fades away, you'll fade too. Bit by bit, until you won't remember who you are and who everyone else is. You'll forget even Evan Hansen and his brown eyes." She stands up, dusts herself off, "I am sorry, Connor, I really am. Think about it. I hope you change your mind, if you do, you just have to call me.  

 

"Will I remember this?" 

 

"Probably not," she smiles sadly, "but the warning will stick. Good luck, I hope I'll see you soon." 

 

It happens in the span of a blink of the eye, one second she is there, and the next Tessa is gone. And Connor is left alone reeling, processing all the information, the omnious warning hanging over his head. 

 

_Tick, tock._  

 

He needs to remember, he has to make the most of his time here, with Evan, before he is forced to disapear for good. 

 

He needs to remember- 

 

"Connor?" 

 

A car drives away, Evan is standing at the door, looking concerned and confused, "are you alright?" 

 

"What?" Connor looks around, how did he arrive here? Wasn't he in the backyard? "I-- I think so." 

 

"What are doing? Were you using the scissors?" 

 

"Oh," right, that's why he had come here, "I was going to slash the tires of Jared's car." 

 

"What, why?" Evan widens his eyes, in the confused-puppy way he always does, "that's not nice." 

 

"Yeah, well, I'm kind of an asshole and Jared's an idiot," he shrugged, "guess I forgot." 

 

"Are you sure you're okay?" he waits for Connor to nod, "well, if you say so, now come here quick, I need to show you something, the Connor Project-- it's all over the web!" 

 

"Hey, Evan," the ghost hurries inside, "we should go to the park later, or some shit like that." 

 

"Like-- a date, you mean?" 

 

"Yeah." 

 

"Sure, that's-- that sounds great." A pause, "why so suddenly, though?" 

 

"Nothing, just-- why waste time, right?" 

 

Evan nods, smiling and blushing, and Connor knows he made the right call. There is a restlessness buzzing beneath his skin and impatience drumming in his heart, and Connor watches as Evan shows him the thousand messages talking about his speech.  

 

But he can wait, they have all the time in the world. 

 

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, comments give me life but seriously, thanks for sticking with me for this long! Thank all of you still reading this, y'all are the best and deserve all nice things in the world!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Prologue down, this is officially the start!
> 
> Let me know what y'all think! Comments and kudos make my day!
> 
> You can also come scream at me about Dear Evan Hansen and these dorks on [my tumblr.](http://wearealltalesintheend.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And hey? Thanks.


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